


Midnight Of the Century

by glasslogic



Series: Midnight Of the Century [1]
Category: Millennium (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Drama, Injury, M/M, Other, Rescue, Reunions, Sex, Sibling Incest, Snark, Stanford Era, Threesome - F/M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasslogic/pseuds/glasslogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam hasn’t spoken to Dean in years. He went to Stanford Law and graduated, now he is studying for the Bar and planning a wedding for the spring. He sees Dean’s fetch on Christmas in a churchyard while attending service with his fiancee' Jess and her family. Fetches are death omens for those who will die in the coming year. Suddenly, Sam finds himself on the road, looking for his wayfaring brother and trying to figure out a way for him to avoid his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Of the Century

 

  


 

"For almost the entire history of Western civilization this month  
has been a holy time. The Druids, winter solstice, Hannakah, the  
Romans converted Saturnalia into Christmas. Imagine that, Christ  
wasn't even born on this day. So no one knows for sure when  
the millennium really begins. And how much time is left."  
                                    -Peter Watts, Millennium

 

** Prologue **

Snow was falling in heavy, wet flakes, clinging to everything and blanketing the countryside with deep, white silence. The roads and walkways were still visible where lingering heat and traffic kept the winter at bay, but by dawn there would be nothing to distinguish concrete from grass

Pastor Jim walked through the kitchen with a frown. He had been given the charge of two boys, but only one was sitting at the table slurping soup.

"Dean, I thought I asked you to tell Sam to come in?"

The twelve-year-old looked up and shrugged. "I did, but he doesn't want to. I made sure he had all his heavy clothes on and gave him my jacket to wear over his while he's outside freezing his butt off."

"Is he in the yard?"

Dean nodded. "By the old gate, with the tombstones."

"On the cemetery side? What is he doing out there?"

The boy crumbled another handful of crackers into his soup. "He says he's watching people."

"By the old gate? That gate has opened to an empty field for the last century. No one comes in that way anymore; the old stone sidewalk was even torn out when we did the renovations to the plumbing."

"I didn't see anyone. Sam likes to play weird games sometimes. Dad tells him to knock it off, but if it makes him happy I don't mind." Dean shrugged again.

"Well, it's too cold to play this game this evening, he needs to eat something. And don't just eat all the crackers, drink your milk too."

The Pastor went to find his own boots and jacket. John would never forgive him if his youngest caught pneumonia because no one bothered to drag him in out of the snow.

 

~~~~~~~

Jim crunched through the frozen grass and deepening ice towards the old iron gate at what was now the rear of the church property.

Over a century earlier, when the church had been center of town life, a wide stone avenue had led through the gate to the chapel. But now the public road ran on the other side of the church, and the chapel that had once been the entirety of the church building was just a very small part of the structure. The tombstones in the yard behind the church dated back to the earliest Christian settlements in the region, and most were no longer even legible.

He found Sam sitting on the ancient stone steps that led up to the old chapel doors. The boy was indeed huddled in his brother's jacket, watching the gate with wide hazel eyes. His lips were almost blue and a heavy dusting of snow covered his shoulders. He was clearly focused on something, but Jim didn't see anything unusual in the stillness of the yard. The deep shadows of evening were gathering and, Christmas Eve or not, the churchyard was not a friendly place for the living.

The boy didn't seem to realize he had company, but Jim noticed that his eyes were flickering back and forth as though watching something with movement.

"Sam?"

The boy blinked and turned his head towards the Pastor.

"What are you looking at?"

Sam frowned. "The people, where are all the people coming from? Where are they going?"

Jim felt the skin at the back of his neck prickle and all the hair stand up.

"What people, Sam?" he asked carefully.

Sam waved a small gloved hand at the snow covered pathway through the closed ancient gate.

"There! All of those people. They keep coming, but they won't talk to me. Then they go away."

Jim looked again, but the cemetery was still deserted. "Are they people you recognize?"

The boy looked thoughtful. "No, well ...maybe. I thought I saw Ms. Lizzie, but I wasn't sure and she didn't hear me when I talked to her."

Jim nodded. A shiver ran up his spine at Sam's mention of the church choir director.

"Okay, Sam. Well, it's time to come in now. It's much too cold out here for you."

Sam looked at him, eyes wide. "Dean didn't believe me. He said I was making it up. Why can't he see them? They're right there!"

"Maybe he was teasing you," Jim offered gently. "Do you see a lot of things that Dean says he can't see?"

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Sometimes. When I tell him about weird things I see, Dean makes fun of me and tells Dad, and Dad tells me I'm too old for little kid games. But I'm not lying," he added hotly.

"Weird like how?"

Sam shrugged and pointed out into the empty yard.

"Do you ever tell your Dad?"

"No. Dad's always busy."

Jim nodded and reached down to pick Sam up. At eight he was getting big, but not too big to be carried around just yet. The boy clung to him and rested his head on Jim's shoulder.

"'M'not lying," he mumbled again.

"Don't worry about it, Sam. Let's get some hot soup in you and get you to bed."

"Is Dad coming back tonight? He said he would be back for Christmas."

"I'm sure your Dad will do everything he can to be here for tomorrow. And if he doesn't make it, we will just have to start without him and tell him about everything he missed."

Jim carried his friend's son back into the church and settled him in the kitchen with his brother, where the two promptly engaged in one of the sibling spats their age made them prone to.

Sam seemed okay, and so Jim was inclined to not make a big deal of anything, but as soon as John showed up they needed to have a long talk about his youngest son.

 

  
** Chapter One **

 

"For the thing I greatly feared has  
come upon me. And what I dreaded has  
happened to me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet;  
I have no rest, for trouble comes."  
                                    ~Job 3:25, 26

"What are you looking at, Sam?"

Jess wound her arm through his and leaned into his warmth. Sam was watching the path through the churchyard with a strange, haunted expression. Jess kept looking between his face and the people walking, trying to see what was absorbing so much of his attention.

Sam had been a little reluctant to come to the Christmas Eve service, but she had chalked that up to his stress over the upcoming Bar exam in February. Graduating a semester early, cramming for the Bar on his own, the Bar itself, the wedding shortly afterwards, a new job ...he had plenty of reasons to be a little frazzled. She thought a low key evening out doing family things would be a nice break. And spending the evening with her parents meant they could sleep in and not show up at their house until around noon tomorrow for Christmas brunch. Sleeping in meant they could have a late night, and she had definite plans for how to use that time.

"Sam?" She swayed her body gently against his, forcing him to take a step to keep his balance.

He turned to her as if startled to find her there. Twinkling lights over the arched entry of the church behind her made a halo of her blond hair and added to the cheery festive bustle of the crowd entering to find seats.

Jessica smiled at him.

"You seem so ...absorbed. I was just wondering what you're looking at."

Sam tightened his arm around hers. "It's …nothing." He tried a reassuring smile, but it never reached his eyes. "I just thought I saw someone familiar."

Jess turned and looked again at the path. A few people were still hurrying about, heading for the entrance before the service started.

"I didn't think you had ever been here before."

"My family traveled a lot when I was a kid." Sam's smile was a little more genuine as he tugged her back towards the open door to the church. "Sometimes it seems like I've been everywhere."

Jess glanced back at the street with a frown, but let herself be distracted and drawn back into the warm light of the church hall towards her parents. Sam seldom spoke about his childhood, and she respected his privacy enough not to poke. They would have a lifetime together; if it was important, he would come clean eventually.

 

~~~~~~~

Sam excused himself from the throng of people as soon as possible, leaving Jessica in the circle of her family and retreating to the privacy of the restroom. It was thankfully empty and he leaned heavily on the sink, splashing water on his face and trying to convince himself he hadn't seen what his heart was sure of. The shuffling crowd of shades hadn't been such a surprise. It was Christmas Eve after all, and he had known what he would see in the churchyard, any churchyard; the silent wraiths of the coming year's dead.

In his childhood, one of the few family traditions John had gone out of his way to observe was making sure his boys attended Christmas Eve services. It was an annual mark of normalcy that really just served to highlight how otherwise abnormal their lives were. Attending was easier once he befriended Pastor Jim; after that, the holiday presented itself neatly as an opportunity to talk shop and pick up tips from someone who had been involved with hunting, even if only on the margins, for a lot longer than John had. Sam was eight or nine when Pastor Jim realized that Sam's preoccupation with the churchyard on these visits was more than a child's fascination with old gravestones and snow.

That was the last year they did any kind of traditional Christmas. John never brought it up to Sam, but Sam himself ran across the legend during research in his teens, and remembered those half-seen figures coming to Mass. He had gone to his father upset, demanding to know what it meant that he could see them. His dad had assured him it didn't mean anything, that some people were just sensitive to things like that, and that Sam knowing they were real made him even more open to seeing them. The words had been right and comforting, but the shadows in his father's eyes spoke other things to Sam. They never discussed it again.

He followed his father's footsteps and stayed away from churches on Christmas Eve. But he hadn't been able to deny Jess this tonight, not when between her working to support them both, and his studying for the Bar practically every waking hour since graduation, they scarcely saw each other, except passing through the kitchen and completely exhausted in bed. She had been patient and supportive, and had asked nothing of him since he started studying but that he take a few hours over the holidays to do family things with her and her relatives.

Soon to be his relatives.

Sam wished to a God he wasn't sure he believed in that he had told her no. He didn't know what to do with what he had seen tonight. Down the line of drifting shades, looking straight ahead, and as expressionless as they all were: his brother. The brother who hated him for reasons unknown, and whom he had sworn off in return. He had the knowledge that his brother would die in the coming year. Even if they no longer acted as brothers to each other, it seemed like information he should give Dean. Let him have at least the chance to avoid his fate.

But even if Sam wanted to, he didn't know where to find Dean, or how to begin looking.

  


** Chapter Two **

**Bob Bletcher:** If it was 500 years ago,  
you'd have been burned as a witch.  
**Frank Black:** Nothing I do is magic, Bob.  
**Bob Bletcher:** Yeah, a lot of people shouted  
just that from the middle of a bonfire.  
                                    ~Millennium

Sam whispered apologies and edged carefully around people's feet as he made his way through the pews to the open seat at his fiancée's side.

Jessica flashed him a concerned look, but he shook his head and she gave a slight nod of acknowledgment: nothing serious. She squeezed his hand when he sat.

He was grateful for the tangible display of her affection, but his mind wasn't on the service.

Throughout the evening it turned over and over in his mind. Flashes from his youth and childhood. His adored and adoring older brother. By turns both father figure and confidant, but always his protector: his best friend. The shocked white look on his face when Sam announced he was leaving for college. His shuttered expression when Sam turned to him in mute appeal for support against their father's ultimatums. The hours Sam had waited at the bus station, knowing Dean would come to say goodbye, even if their father would never forgive him. Sitting through three different connections before being forced to accept that fact that Dean wasn't coming either. Dean never visiting, never calling, not even when their father had died. Leaving Sam to find out second hand during a chance call with a mutual acquaintance. Sam finally breaking and trying to call Dean, leaving messages everywhere he could. Terrified his brother was gone too. Never hearing back, being assured Dean was still alive and well by people who knew him. Fear and worry turning to rage and anger.

Dean's blank translucent face, his brother in that endless line of men, women, and children who passed by the living, silent in the snow.

Destined to die in the coming year.

His brother.

By the time the service had ended and people were rising to gather coats, kids, handshakes, and hugs, Sam had reached a decision.

 

~~~~~~~

The trip back was strained. Jess kept trying to draw Sam into conversation, and he kept answering in monosyllables and nods. It didn't get any better when they got home.

At a loss as to how to crack Sam's moodiness without direct confrontation, she slipped into the bedroom to change from her heavy winter clothes into the sleek negligee she had purchased for the occasion. Her fiancé's strange demeanor had thrown her enough that she dragged a robe on over the skimpy lace before heading back out to the living room to see where he was.

"Sam?"

He was bent over his laptop, drumming the fingers of one hand nervously on the table, oblivious to her presence.

She took a few steps closer and tried again.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Jess." He frowned and scrawled something illegible in an open notebook, still focused on the computer screen. "Thought you were going to bed?"

"I thought _we_ were going to bed." She let the robe slip off her shoulder a bit, showing the lacy strap beneath.

"In a little bit." He still didn't look up.

Jessica sighed as the last of her amorous mood evaporated. She pulled the robe back into place, resigned.

"I'm pretty sure this isn't supposed to be a problem until after the wedding," she commented dryly.

"Hmmm?"

Jess rolled her eyes and went back into the bedroom. "I'm turning in; try not to wake me up when you come to bed."

 

~~~~~~~

The next day was odd for Jessica. Sam had done as she asked the previous night and had not disturbed her when he finally abandoned the computer. She had the strong suspicion, from the depth of the shadows under his eyes, that it had been some time after dawn before he came to bed.

Sam was attentive enough that no one at her parents' house seemed to think anything was off, but to Jess it was obvious that wherever his mind was, it wasn't on Christmas brunch.

Strangely, it also didn't seem to be on the Bar, or any of the other things he liked to worry over. She promised herself he could have the rest of the day to work whatever it was out in his mind, but first thing tomorrow they were going to talk.

He was gone when she got up in the morning. She found a note on the table:

 

_~something came up with my brother, back in a few days~_

 

Jess could recall the times Sam had mentioned his brother on the fingers of one hand and have digits left over, so after the stress of the last few months, and the weird behavior of the last few days, all she could think was _he's left me_.

She fumbled for her phone.

 

~~~~~~~

"I haven't left you!" Sam repeated with slightly more of an edge. It was the fifth or sixth time in the last few minutes. A large part of him knew he damn well deserved it -- he didn't know what he had been thinking leaving at 3 am with only a one line note explaining his abrupt departure -- but when Bobby finally called him back at 2:45 a.m. and said he might know where to find Dean, Sam just had to go. He knew if he woke Jess up he wouldn't leave for hours, and hours might mean the difference between catching Dean alive or finding his body. He only knew Dean would die in the coming year --he didn't know when, or how.

He had been half expecting Jessica's phone call since the sun rose, braced for her anger; the undercurrent of grief and confusion had hurt his heart. Still, there wasn't much more he could do than "I haven't left you," and "I'll be back as soon as I can and explain everything then," --and won't that be fun. He figured he was getting through to her when the misery in her tone evaporated into annoyance with a strong undertone of danger, and she hung up abruptly. It was amazing how much sudden silence could sound like a slammed receiver.

Sam shoved the problem as far back in his mind as he could. He would have decades to smooth this over with Jess, provided she didn't leave him, but Dean could be in danger now.

The miles were crawling.

Bobby's call in the middle of the night hadn't really been that informative. It had also been reluctant. Sam had called Bobby every four hours since getting home from the church service armed with determination and a plan, trying to get him to fess up to where Dean was. Bobby was the only contact Sam thought Dean might be keeping up with that Sam had the number for. The junkyard owner had been a close confidant of their father --when the two were speaking, and not laying out death threats-- and Bobby had always been kind to John's kids. Even with John dead, Sam had been confident that Dean would be in touch with Bobby, and Sam's bet had paid off. He knew Bobby had the information he had wanted, and would eventually give it to him, just by the fact that he kept picking up Sam's calls at all.

What Sam didn't understand was why Bobby had played the game in the first place. He had started off with a flat "no," and then tried to dissuade Sam, telling him that if Dean wanted to talk to him, he would have given Sam his number, and that it would be better for everyone if Sam just left well enough alone. Naturally Bobby refused to elaborate on that.

Sam had been reluctant to tell Bobby why it was suddenly so important he find his estranged brother after over six years of silence. A hunter's instincts died hard, and it had not gone over Sam's head that confessing to any sort of psychic ability could make him a potential target to more than a few of his father's colleagues. The shades of Christmas Eve weren't the only things Sam's mind forced him to witness, though thankfully, through sheer denial on his part, the other manifestations seemed more and more infrequent.

His father had trusted Bobby with his life --and, more tellingly, his sons' lives-- on more than one occasion. So when it eventually sounded like Bobby's "no" wasn't going to budge, Sam had told him what he had seen in the churchyard. He had also confessed about some of other things he had seen. He needed Bobby to believe in what he saw, and not think it was some kind of dream.

Utter silence on the other end of the line while Sam waited for either condemnation or help. Bobby finally told him to wait by the phone without any other comment. Three hours and a heavy sigh later-- a location.

 

  
** Chapter Three **

 

"Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it."  
                                    ~Emily Dickenson

 

Cookeville, Tennessee, was pretty typical for a truck-stop town off Interstate 40. The only thing that made it stand out was it was also home to a university, so the normal interstate hodgepodge was mixed with an eclectic assortment of shops aimed at the college population, a truly impressive number of Christian bookstores, and the most extensive representation of restaurant chains all gathered on one road Sam could ever remember seeing.

He found the Impala parked outside the Key West Inn.

There was no way of knowing which room was Dean's, and Sam was pissed at him anyways, so after a quick look around, he felt no guilt at picking a rock up out of the parking lot and casually busting the passenger side window out of the Impala. Well, maybe a little guilt, but that was more due to the pangs of childhood memory than feeling sorry about Dean having to fix it.

He went to the front desk, where a frazzled attendant wearing a crooked name tag reading "Matt" was having a stressful phone conversation with an angry customer. The woman on the other end was so loud that Sam, standing feet away, could make out half the words she was snarling. Sam waited until Matt finally got a word in, begging the woman to be patient for just a moment.

He covered the received with one hand and mustered up a smile for Sam.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Some kid just broke out a window on that Impala in the parking lot. I just wanted to stick a note on the owner's door with my number in case they need a witness. Do you know whose it is?"

Matt looked greatly alarmed and told the woman on the phone he would call her right back.

"The Impala?"

"Yeah," Sam said impatiently, "black, classic, right over there--" he pointed out over the guy's shoulder to where the Impala sat in clear view.

Matt turned and looked dismayed at the shattered glass.

"Shit. Just now?"

"Yeah, man. They looked like they were trying to fish something off the floor. I yelled and they ran off."

Matt ran his hand nervously through his hair. "I talked to the guy when he checked in. He had to give us his license plate number for parking..." He gave Sam a hopeful look and Sam obediently rattled the tag number off. Matt didn't look suspicious that Sam had it memorized. He typed something into the computer before nodding and shoving a piece of printer paper and pen across the counter towards Sam with a roll of tape. At the top of the paper Matt had written "107."

"He insisted on the ground floor. I guess he's in, but take the tape just in case."

"Thanks." Sam took the paper, pen, and tape off the counter and headed back outside.

Room 107 was at the far corner of the hotel. Sam assumed the parking lot must have been fuller whenever Dean had parked, or his room would never have been so far from his precious car.

A "no smoking" sign was neatly centered on the door, and the curtains were pulled tightly. Sam took a deep breath and knocked.

No answer.

He waited a minute, and knocked again. The door remained stubbornly closed, and there was no sound from inside the room. Sam frowned and pulled out the lock picks he had slipped into his pocket by habit.

He was rusty, but it still took him only a couple of minutes to get the door open.

The room was silent; no sound of running water. Sam looked around and felt a strange feeling of disorientation. It was like taking a step into his past. A local map was tacked up on the wall, along with some articles, the text blurred by the dimness of the room.

Dean's familiar canvas duffel bag lay on the low dresser, dirty clothes kicked into the corner. A thick line of salt lay in front of the window, and the remains of another one crunched in the carpet in front of the door where it had been laid, destroyed by the door opening, then laid again. From the amount of salt Sam knew Dean had been here for several days.

It could have been any room from his teenage years, when his father had abandoned him and Dean to their own devices for days or weeks at a time. All that was missing was Sam's stuff --and his brother.

The clock on the bedside table was flashing 2 p.m.; Dean was probably out finding food. Every restaurant imaginable was less than a block away, so it was reasonable he would have gone on foot.

Sam flipped the lights back off and dragged the comforter back up over the rumpled sheets. He lay down, curling up on his side and resting his head on pillows that smelled like his brother. The drive had been draining, but he didn't mean to really sleep, only rest a bit, for just a few minutes...

 

~~~~~~~

He started awake when a strong hand closed roughly over his shoulder and pressed him down flat on the mattress.

"Sam?!"

He was abruptly let go, and sat up blinking in the sudden glare of overhead lights.

"Hey, Dean," he muttered, voice still rough with sleep's edge. "You should do something about the security around here. A toddler could have picked that lock."

Dean glowered at him. "What the fuck are you doing in Tennessee?"

"It was a free country last time I checked," Sam snapped back. Oh, God, Sam thought, with an edge of something that might have been hysteria coloring the thought, it's like I never left at all.

Dean must also have been feeling the ridiculousness of the reunion after the six-and-a-half years of silence that separated them, because he didn't respond, just stalked across the room and pulled a beer from the mini fridge. He popped the cap off with his ring and slouched against the wall, glaring at his little brother.

For his part, Sam used the time to look Dean over. His brother looked much the same on the surface. Maybe a little thinner and a little more worn. The hunting business was a rough one, and Dean had been doing it alone for three years now. He was still wearing the amulet Sam had given him, which seemed incongruous with his total abandonment. Faced with Dean in person, Sam's confusion and frustrated rage towards his brother melted a little into more bewilderment and nostalgia. He still didn't know what had happened to drive them so far apart, but maybe this trip could be a chance to mend the damage a little.

Dean finished off the beer and set the bottle down heavily on top of the TV. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," he snapped.

Or maybe not. Sam's annoyance flared front and center again, and he shoved himself to his feet.

"Good thing I didn't show up for a family reunion, huh, Dean?"

"Family reunions are for people who have families, Sam," Dean said harshly.

Sam recoiled inside. Dean's dislike for him was obvious, but he was still shocked by the viciousness of the attack. For a moment Sam was actually speechless, before he remembered the purpose of the visit and squared his shoulders.

"I won't drag this out, then."

Dean reached for another beer. He pointedly didn't offer Sam one. "I would appreciate it."

"I was at a church on Christmas Eve. I saw your fetch in the yard."

"What the fuck were you doing in a churchyard on Christmas Eve, Sam? I thought you and Dad had an understanding about that."

Sam blinked. "Dad's dead, Dean," he lowered his voice, "and I'm not so ...different, that I can hear his orders from the grave." His eyes narrowed. "Thanks for the heads up on that, by the way. And aren't you maybe a little more concerned with the whole dead before the end of the year issue?"

Dean shrugged, planting the half empty bottle down firmly by the first. "Would have told you if I thought you'd have cared. And unless I know how, it's not like I can avoid the getting dead issue. No reason to get all bent out of shape about something you can't change. I'll make sure to wear my seatbelt and avoid hookers with guns."

He fixed Sam in place with a hard look. "So, the churchyard, Sam?"

"I was with my fiancée and her family," Sam snapped, ignoring the slight about his caring --trying to get Dean past the churchyard and onto more important matters.

"You have a fiancée?" Dean sounded honestly surprised, and even possibly interested.

"I've had one for three years now, Dean. Which you would know if you had ever bothered to call or come by."

"I did come by."

"You--" Dean's admission caught Sam by surprise and his mind scrambled to make sense of it,"--what? You did not."

Dean frowned, looking deeply regretful that he had spoken.

"If you fucking stopped by why the hell didn't you let me know you were there!"

"It's not a big deal, Sam. I just stopped in town once or twice to make sure you were doing all right. You know, not face down in an alley, or missing and presumed dead."

Sam gaped. "And after driving out there it was just too much trouble to knock on my door?!"

"I promised Dad I wouldn't bother you."

"Bother me, promised Dad -- what the hell Dean?!" Sam knew his voice was rising, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Dean remained silent, no longer looking at Sam at all, but past him at the door. A silent directive to drop it and get out.

Sam made no move to obey. He took a moment to calm himself and to try to take in this new information. Finally he recovered enough to speak. "I need an answer, Dean."

"I told you. I gave Dad my word I would stay away from you."

"Actually, you didn't. 'Not bothering me' and 'staying away from me' are two different things. Why didn't Dad want you to come see me? Did he think I would tempt you down the insidious and evil path of a college degree too?"

The corner of Dean's mouth quirked in an unhappy smile. "Not so much, Sam."

"Then what, Dean!" Sam stalked over to stand in touching distance of his brother.

Up close, Dean looked worse than Sam had thought. The dark hollows under his eyes and the edge of a sutured wound peeking out from the neck of his t-shirt spoke of rough living and pain that Sam didn't want to think about while he was so angry and frustrated.

"What could he possibly have been worried about? Was it just to punish me? If so, man -- I thought we were closer than that." Sam didn't think he was doing such a good job of keeping the hurt from his voice anymore, and was marginally pleased to see a flash of expression across Dean's face that might have been guilt.

"It wasn't to punish you, Sam. And it hardly fucking matters now!" Dean looked like he wanted to escape, but in six years apart Sam had grown from an awkward, over-tall teenager into a man who could make his presence felt when it suited his purposes. Dean would either have to slide out against the wall, or actually touch Sam if he wanted to move. He settled for looking angry and trapped.

"I don't see how you can say it doesn't matter if even when he died you still wouldn't fucking come see me." Sam hissed. "Even pick up the phone and let me know! What could he have possibly said to you that was so damn important that you didn't tell me when that happened, huh, Dean?" He was getting angry again, clenching his fists against his sides, yelling practically in Dean's face.

"He was protecting you, Sam," Dean admitted reluctantly.

"Protecting me from what, Dean?! What was he possibly protecting me from by cutting me off from my family?"

Dean set his jaw but didn't answer.

Sam twisted his hand in the front of Dean's shirt and shoved him hard back into the wall. "I deserve a fucking answer, Dean!"

Dean wrenched free and before Sam could blink their positions were reversed. Dean slammed Sam into the wall and pinned him there with an arm barred across his throat.

"You want an answer, Sam? Really?" he snarled.

"Yeah," Sam gasped, "I really think you owe me one."

Dean lessened the pressure slightly. "It was me, Sam. Dad was protecting you from me."

Sam stopped fighting.

Dean let him go and stepped back.

"From you?" Sam asked, trying to regain his breath.

"Yeah, Sam. From me. Dad didn't want you to go away where he couldn't protect you, but on the other hand, he was just so damn glad to get us separated." Dean's smile was twisted. "If you had been a little nicer when you told him about Stanford, he might have bought you a freaking bus ticket and waved you cheerfully off from the station."

"What?" Sam was coming up blank, nothing about the conversation was fitting in with his understanding of his family, or the event of their separation.

"You see, Sam," Dean said, an unreadable expression on his face, "I have this little issue. I wasn't sure I could trust myself, the situation being what it was, so I told Dad. He'd been trying to find a way to split us up, more than a couple of days at a time anyways, for months when you made your little announcement."

"What problem, Dean? Why the fuck can't you just give me a straight answer?"

Dean smiled again, it was a strange miserable expression. "I love you, Sam."

"You've got a twisted way of showing it, Dean! What the hell was your problem that you and Dad completely wrote me off just because I wanted to go to college."

"The problem was that _I love you_."

Before Sam could figure out how to respond to that, Dean rolled his eyes and Sam found his back against the wall for the second time in five minutes. Dean's hands were warm through Sam's flannel where they pressed against his shoulder; Dean was so close Sam could feel the heat of his body through the layers of his clothes. A heartbeat, a deep breath, and Dean's lips found Sam's own.

Sam froze in shock.

A brush of Dean's tongue, and time caught up with Sam again. He shoved Dean hard so that he staggered, the backs of his legs hitting the edge of the bed and dumping him across it. Sam ran both hands through his hair and stomped towards the door.

"Problem, Sam?" Dean called mockingly behind him.

Sam turned to see his brother still lying across the bed, feet planted on the floor and propped up on an elbow, his face an expressionless mask.

"You know, Dean. I don't know what the fuck I did to make you hate me so much. All I wanted was a freaking answer, and you know what? If you can't bring yourself to give me that, then maybe I just don't care enough to find out anymore. If it's such a big secret that you have to resort to juvenile bullshit just to try and throw me off stride, then keep the damn secret to yourself. I'm done." Sam ripped the door open. "I told you what I came to say, what you do now is up to you. Goodbye, Dean."

Sam closed the door behind himself without a backwards glance.

He slid behind the wheel of his car and pulled his cell phone out to call Jess, to let her know he was on his way home.

 

 

  


 

Chapter Four

 

"I smell blood and an era of prominent madmen."  
                                    -WH Auden

"Sam, you dressed?"

Jessica was trying to get the earring loop through her ear while balancing on one foot to slide a heel on. "We're going to be late!"

Sam walked out of the bedroom tugging the collar of his button-up out from under the sweater Jess's parents had given him for Christmas.

"A fate worse than death," he replied wryly.

Jess eyed him darkly, finally getting the earring in and shoving her other foot into the shoe. "It might be. We used up all of our free points of holiday goodwill when we ditched the after-Christmas party."

"Tell me again why you didn't go?" Sam asked, holding her purse out to her.

"I didn't go because my fiancé had vanished in the middle of the night, my eyes were all red from crying, and the absolute last thing I wanted to do was sit and endure the worried hand-wringing of my mother and the snide looks and fake sympathetic comments from cousins Brunhilde and Gertrude," was her tart reply.

"You mean Emily and Janice?" Sam asked, amused. He wrapped an arm around her, and the two made their way out to the car.

"Are those their names?" Jessica asked airily. She flashed Sam a smile when he opened the car door for her, and waited until he was in the driver's seat before continuing. "Anyways, we are likely to have a whole different level of snide and whispers to endure tonight. Be nice, I'm sure I can find something to make it worth your effort later."

"Why are we going to be popular tonight?"

"I certainly wasn't in the mood to explain to my parents all about how you went off and left me with no explanation--"

"Jess…" Sam interrupted with a slight warning edge.

Jessica had greeted Sam's return with happiness, relief, and a certain edge of reserved anger. He had only given her the bare bones of what had happened: that he had met up with his estranged brother ...and they were still estranged. She seemed willing to give him some space for the moment, but Sam knew as soon as they had some breathing room she was going to demand the explanation she deserved, and if he failed to supply one, her reserve on the anger was likely to vanish.

"--so I may have implied to my mother that we were distracted enjoying the holidays in a fashion that could net her grandchildren, and she hushed right up," Jess paused, an evil twinkle in her eyes, "and no doubt promptly told every female relative I have. Expect to be bombarded with suggestions on how to treat a pregnant lady right."

Sam groaned. Jess's mom had started hinting heavily the second year of their engagement that she wanted to be a grandmother before she was too old to enjoy it. Jess had finally managed to convince her mother that the absolute earliest there was any possibility of that would be after Sam graduated and settled into a steady job.

A time that was quickly approaching.

Jessica's mom was a nice lady, but the next few months promised to be filled with pointed hints, expectant smiles, and possibly threatening looks from his soon-to-be father-in-law. A man who never seemed quite convinced that Sam was good enough for his youngest daughter, and who was completely convinced that living together before marriage was a cardinal sin.

It seemed an unspeakably cruel fate to force on someone who was running on less than three hours of sleep.

 

~~~~~~~

The party was in full swing and had been for hours. There were less than thirty minutes left before the ball dropped, and Sam was a mess.

For the first couple of hours he had been fine. He bantered, mingled, and endured both the gossip and the hopeful expressions from Jess's mom and aunts. Jess's parents had rented out a ballroom for their end-of-the-year bash. Sam didn't know how many people were there, but it was well over a hundred.

He occasionally caught sight of his fiancée, but she was being handed off between relatives and friends of the family, and Sam had just wanted things a little bit more low key than that. But people kept finding him, and wanting to talk. And the press of the crowd was making him feel claustrophobic and hot. And Jess's vulpine cousin just wouldn't take the hint. Which were the only excuses he had for how he ended up telling her off so loudly that conversation in that corner had just completely died.

He had gathered the rags of his dignity and exited the room with as much pride as he could manage, leaving dozens of blinking eyes, and one stunned mid-twenty-something in a fancy dress staring after him with flushed cheeks.

He didn't stop walking until the heat and lights were so far behind him that the cold December wind was slicing through his sweater, and the icy slush on the sidewalk was melting into his dress shoes.

Sam hadn't made a conscious decision to go outside, but now that he was there he felt like his head was clearing.

There was no way he could face the crowd again after that exit, so he found a little bench protected from the blowing wind by a garden wall and brushed it clean of snow. If he had thought his relationship would survive abandoning Jess again, he would have been sorely tempted to just leave.

He had passed cold and was heading straight into frozen-over when he heard the crunch of snow and felt a light touch on his shoulder.

"Sam?"

Sam covered Jess's hand with one of his own, feeling a sudden rush of affection for her; standing almost ankle-deep in snow, her high heels buried, the skirt of her silk dress turning dark on the edge from the damp. He looked up and saw that she was wearing an oversized coat she must have purloined from the cloakroom; it certainly wasn't the one she came with. She had his jacket gripped in her free hand. He took it and shrugged it on, not having realized until wrapped in its insulation just how cold he really was.

"So I guess your cousins are going to have a lot more to talk about now," he said by way of greeting.

She didn't say anything, but sat on the bench and leaned against him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I don't care about that, Sam," she sighed. "I'm just worried about you. Something is going on; it's been going on since Christmas. You were all weird, then you went away, and now this ...you need to talk to me."

"You don't want to know, Jess. You'd think I was crazy, and if you think you're worried now...." He huffed something like a laugh but without humor. "Trust me. I'm working some stuff out. I just need a little more time."

She stiffened. "Sam ...no. Just, no. No more time. You didn't want to talk after Christmas Eve, and I let it slide. You didn't want to talk after Christmas, and I let it slide and you took off on a road trip without a word. You came home, and you still wanted some time, and I let it go then too. I'm not doing this again, Sam. We're supposed to be partners for life --you asked me to marry you. If that means anything, you have got to give me some kind of explanation for whatever the hell is going on with you lately!" She paused and gripped his hand, squeezing tight. "If I think what you say is insane, then we can deal with that. But you have to at least try. For us."

Sam twisted on the bench to face her. "You want to know what's going on with me, Jess?"

"Yeah, Sam. I really, really, do. I'm not sure there are enough words in English for me to explain just how much I want to know what's going on with you!"

"Fine. Christmas Eve I saw my brother's ghost wandering around the churchyard. Well, not really his ghost, it was actually a fetch. They hang out in churchyards on Christmas Eve letting people who can see them know who's going to die in the coming year. I haven't really spoken to my brother since, oh, I started college. I kinda wanted to, but then our dad died and my brother couldn't even be bothered to call and let me know. I decided I at least owed him a heads-up about the impending doom and tracked him down to his hotel, where he was camped out stalking a Fouke Monster, also known as the rare Southern Sasquatch, in central Tennessee, which had apparently been trashing the occasional lone trailer out in the countryside. My brother didn't seem too happy to see me, but after the obligatory yelling and drinking, he did manage to kiss me before pretty much throwing me out. Then I got to drive another obscene amount of hours to get back home, where I end up at a stuffy miserable party, full of stuffy miserable people, being stalked by pissy women with too much obsessive interest in my personal life, and I feel like I haven't slept in days. Do you feel enlightened now, Jess? Because if you do, feel free to let me in on it."

Sam knew it had been a mistake to open his mouth as soon as it happened, but he couldn't take it back, so he braced himself for ...whatever her reaction would be.

He wasn't expecting her to stand up and face him.

"I'm cold, Sam. Are you cold?"

"Um..." He noticed again the thin dress and her high heels, and winced. "Yeah, it's ...cold."

She held her hand out and he took it tentatively, letting her help pull him to his feet.

"You're right about this party. I'm cold, you're tired, and they have entirely the wrong sort of alcohols here. Let's go home."

They got back in the car, Jess had taken the keys from him and seemed to be paying close attention to the road as she steered them back to their apartment.

Sam let the silence sit for about half the trip before it was too much.

"Are you going to say anything?"

"Not right now, Sam. Right now I'm going to get us home and put you to bed. And then I'm going to take a hot shower, curl up on the couch with a stiff drink and a bowl of popcorn, and indulge my sudden need to see Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy."

"Bridget Jones's Diary?"

"No."

"Pride and Prejudice?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that movie five hours long?"

"Maybe a few stiff drinks."

"Jess..."

"Shut up, Sam."

 

~~~~~~~

Sam woke up the next morning feeling both better and worse. Physically, he felt much improved after ten hours of sleep. Unfortunately, the benefits of sleep were balanced out by his perfect recall of the conversation with Jess, which made him feel terrible. He imagined there were more tactful ways for a woman to find out her fiancé was a raving head-case than in a semi-coherent rant while freezing to death at a New Year's Eve party.

New Year's Eve party.

Today was the New Year.

He sat on the edge of the bed and wondered numbly if anyone would think to call him when Dean... When his brother...

He wondered if anyone would even know.

His mood was still bleak when he finally wandered out of the bedroom to find Jess.

 

~~~~~~~

Jess, for her part, was still curled up on the couch when Sam made his way into the living room. She was dressed in the blue terrycloth bathrobe that had been yet another of her mother's gifts to Sam, and it dwarfed her in its folds and length. Her blond hair had partially straggled free of a careless knot, and a popcorn bowl with quite a few chocolate wrappers was discarded on the floor. The level of liquid in the tequila bottle on the table beside her was considerably lower than he remembered.

She was reading the morning paper and eating an apple.

"Do you need aspirin?"

She rolled her head back on the couch so she could see him where he stood behind her and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

He eyed the bottle meaningfully.

She shrugged.

"Nope. I'm good."

"How is that humanly possible?"

"The trick is not to sleep."

"Is it time to talk yet?"

"You mean the talk about how you need to take a break from the insane stress you've been under and maybe we should go on vacation? That talk? Sure. I vote Vegas."

"Jess ...that wasn't stress," he insisted earnestly. "That's all real. Maybe it wasn't the best way to let you know," he glanced at the bottle again, "and maybe this isn't the best time either. But I'm not crazy. It's a very different world out there than people think it is, and dealing with it, with the nightmares --that's what my family does. Did," Sam sighed, "Dean does."

Jess got up and walked into the little kitchen area, carrying the paper with her.

Sam slumped down into one of the cheap wooden chairs, watching her.

She poured some coffee and sat in the chair next to him.

"You've been under a lot of stress, Sam. Graduation, the Bar, the job, the wedding, my parents, your family issues... It's okay to just admit it's a lot to deal with and take a break. And talk to someone. There are a lot of very nice people who make a lot of really nice cash dealing with things like this."

"Things like ghosts?" Sam asked pointedly.

"Things like stress," Jess glared.

"You want me to see a professional?"

"I wanted to go on vacation! You're the one who's insisting ghosts are real. I'm totally willing to chalk all this up to a nervous breakdown, go blow a bunch of money on the slot machines and share a sleeping bag at the Grand Canyon until you feel better. Or we go broke."

"Running away isn't going to change the basic facts of reality."

"No, you're trying to change the basic facts of reality. And if you aren't going to see reason, then you really really need to talk to a professional. Maybe a couple."

She took a long sip of coffee.

"We can move the wedding off a little, you can take the July Bar, I'm sure Dad's buddy will hold the job for a few months, or we can find you a different one. It's not a big deal."

Sam sighed. "I'm not crazy, Jess."

She slammed the coffee cup down, liquid sloshing onto the table.

"Look, Sam. I love you. But if you are going to keep up with the insanity then I'm going to have to insist you either prove yourself, or get some help. My mom's best friend had a breakdown a few years ago and really made a lot of progress with her Dr. ...I think the guy's name was Tobin. I'm sure I can find it and make you an appointment; this doesn't have to be a huge thing."

"Or?"

"Or what?" She frowned.

"You said I have to either prove I'm not insane, or go see your doctor. Or what? Don't you need some kind of threat when you start handing out ultimatums?"

Jessica could see in the way he held himself that he was angry now, and defensive.

"There is no threat, Sam. If you won't go ...I don't know." She held the newspaper to her chest like a shield and gave him an unhappy look. She really didn't feel her position was unreasonable. Her fiancé had vanished for a week, come back, told off her cousin at a New Year's Eve party in front of half the town, his future boss, and her parents, and then spilled out a story in which he claimed that sasquatch and ghosts were real.

"You're not going to walk out? Break off the engagement? Never see me again?"

The words were bitter and suddenly Jessica got it. The bits of family history he had shared over the years, and last night --_Dad died and my brother couldn't even be bothered to call and let me know_\-- and she grabbed his hand with one of hers, squeezing tight.

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not going to leave, I'm not going to make you leave. No one is leaving."

He nodded slowly, then seemed to gather himself. "Hand me the paper."

"What?" Jessica looked confused.

"The paper. Hand it over."

"Sam," she tried for gentle and persuasive again, "we need to work this out. I'm really worried about you. It's not a big deal to just go in and talk--"

He interrupted her. "You said I could see the doctor, or I could prove I'm not crazy. I'm going to prove it. Hand me the paper." Sam looked around. "And that pen on the counter."

Jessica stood up and slammed the paper down onto the table in front of him, but leaned on it and glared. "I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself, Sam. You clearly need to talk to someone. If it isn't going to be me, then it needs to be a professional."

"Do you have boots?"

She sagged back and leaned against the wall rubbing her eyes. "Why do I need boots?"

"You also need gloves. And something with long sleeves." He discarded a few sections of the paper and skimmed through local news. "You should also probably cancel any plans you had for today or tomorrow."

Jessica took a deep breath. "Okay, Sam. We'll do this your way first. But promise me that afterwards, you will go see Doctor Tobin?"

Sam looked up at her. For the first time since Christmas, she saw in his eyes a glimpse of the man she had agreed to marry shining in his eyes. "Jess, if you aren't completely convinced of my sanity by this time tomorrow, I'll go see any doctor you want."

  
** Chapter Five **

 

"Reality is that which, when you stop believing it, it doesn't go away."

                                    -Phillip K. Dick

 

Two hours later they were on the road.

While Jess dug out more winter gear than she normally wore, Sam had gone on a shopping trip. She stood baffled and concerned while he sorted his purchases and added some things from the apartment. A bag of salt, lighter fluid, a new shovel, and a brace of iron pokers Sam had owned when she met him and dragged without explanation through several different apartments, all got loaded into the trunk.

"Sam…" she started dubiously.

He flashed her what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile, but since he was holding a shovel and a directory of local cemeteries at the time, it had rather the opposite effect.

"I know what I'm doing, Jess. Ready to go?" He opened the passenger side door for her.

She handed him the duffel bag she had packed for an overnight trip to add to the trunk.

"Okay. Just remember what you promised. I'm not convinced, you see the doctor."

"Absolutely." He grinned at her.

"You seem awfully excited about this."

He slammed the trunk shut and slid into the car, flipping open a map he had made some notes on.

His handwriting was illegible as far as Jess was concerned, so she had no idea where they were going.

"I suppose I am on some level. Telling you about this? It's like having this huge weight off my shoulders." He laughed. "I didn't even know. I'm just so used to not talking about it to anyone, not talking to you about it wasn't even a decision I had to make. And then Dean and Dad not coming around... it just seemed like something I could wall up in the past."

"It sounds like your childhood was a lot more interesting than you've implied."

"Yeah, interesting is one word for it. And gruesome, and grim, and scary."

"But you're excited about it now?"

He smiled and pulled out of the driveway. "It's weird, and I wouldn't go so far as to say I miss it, but this was my entire life until I came to Stanford. This is like, I don't know, taking you out to the old homestead and showing you where I grew up. I love your family and the stories you have about when you were a kid, it's nice to be able to return the favor a little." He looked over at her bundled up for the weather. "It's going to be a few hours."

Jess shrugged out of her heavy jacket and started looking for a good radio station. "This doesn't mean I believe you, you know."

"I know." Sam grinned. "Just wait."

 

~~~~~~~

Jessica spat grass and dirt out of her mouth and heaved for air. She was sprawled out on her belly, Sam a limp and heavy weight across her back pinning her down.

"Off!" she gasped, wriggling beneath him in panic, trying to free herself.

The loose salt stung the scrapes across her arms and hands where she had instinctively tried to break her fall when her boyfriend unexpectedly slammed into her. She had been standing in a thick salt ring beside the freshly opened grave, holding a flashlight and absolutely certain than intensive psychotherapy was the least of the things Sam needed, when Sam had shouted in alarm, and then been suddenly flying through the air and sending them both sliding through the edge of the ring and into another tombstone.

Abruptly Sam, who was starting to weakly move on his own, got a lot lighter.

Jess stared wide-eyed and skittered away on her backside as a flicking translucent figure effortlessly hauled Sam up into the air and pinned him against a tree by the throat.

Sam struggled against the spirit, but his hands and feet went right through it without purchase. He was trying to squeak something to her, but she couldn't make it out.

She tore her gaze away from the strange tableau --it was actually making her grip on reality hurt-- and looked around desperately for the iron pokers Sam had lugged from the car. She clearly remembered him saying iron would chase a ghost off. She might not have been willing to believe ghosts existed before one tried to kill her, but she was damn sure able to identify one once presented.

Thick grass made the pokers invisible in the darkness, and her flashlight had broken in the fall.

"Dammit!"

The moonlight was just enough for her to make out the open pit beside her knees, and she was distantly grateful she couldn't make out the open casket at the bottom.

"Sam!" she shouted. "Sam, I don't know what to do!"

He flailed an arm in her direction and gurgled something. He had told her a lot of things while she watched bemused as he demonstrated expert skill in opening a grave.

She had been mostly focused on the logistics of getting him the help he obviously needed, and what exactly she was going to tell the cops if they were discovered. What Sam was saying was a distant third concern. He talked about burning bones...

The sharp scent of lighter fluid hit her nostrils and she pounced on the rucksack by the tombstone. It didn't have anything in it but the remaining salt and she tossed it aside, where it tumbled unnoticed into the open grave. She slammed her hands on the ground in frustration and by chance her hand landed on the fluid container. It was open on its side, and she realized Sam must have been holding it when he was attacked. There was very little liquid left inside, but the weakening rasps and rustling from the tree told her the time to consult on a backup plan had long passed.

Jess dumped what was left in the metal box into the dark pit, and dropped the can in for good measure. She ripped a match book from her pocket and struck one with shaking hands still damp with lighter fluid. The entire book went up and seared her fingers, she flung it away from her into the hole. A whoosh, and the casket and its contents exploded into flame.

"Sam!" she spun.

He was in a heap at the foot of the tree. Coughing weakly and rubbing his throat.

She crawled over to him.

"Are you okay?!"

He nodded at her, then tried a weak smile, and rasped, "Yeah."

"Good!" She punched him as hard as she could and burst into tears.

  
** Chapter Six **

 

"Thou dost frighten me with dreams and terrify me by visions." ~Job 7:14

 

Sam was holding an ice pack to his face while Jess was in the shower. The irony of his situation was not lost on him. He had fled from his family and hunting, with its endless parade of fear and pain and sleazy no-questions-asked motel rooms, and had gone to college in pursuit of a normal life. He had graduated from a top-tier law school, gotten an excellent job offer, and become engaged to the woman of his dreams ...with whom he was now sharing a sleazy no-questions-asked motel room, while nursing injuries received from a brawl with a ghost in a cemetery over an open grave. And his fiancée's right hook.

Not that he could blame her.

He might have been a bit shy on some of the details when she had agreed to accompany him on his quest to prove he wasn't insane. He had definitely downplayed the danger. Though in his defense, she didn't believe him anyways, and should have been completely safe in the salt. He didn't remember ever running into a spirit that was aware enough of things outside the immediate threat to think of throwing something at a protected person to knock them out of the ring. He wondered if it was really that unusual, or if it was something his dad and Dean, with their vastly greater experience, would have thought of.

Jess stalked out of the bathroom with hair still dripping, wrapped in a motel towel that didn't quite make it all the way around her, leaving a long line of pale flesh bare to Sam's eyes.

He caught her gaze, the look in her eyes clearly daring him to comment. He turned his head politely while she rummaged through the duffel she had packed for clean clothes and dragged them on, but not before he had caught a glimpse of the green and red signs of bruising along her arm and shoulder and up her back. Probably from where he had hit her, right before they both hit the gravestone. His own injuries were mostly around his neck, but it didn't seem to be anything more than bruising, and Jess was moving like she was sore, but not actually in pain. The scratches on her arms and hands looked superficial, and just needed a little triple-antibiotic and maybe a band-aid or two. It could have been much, much worse.

He shifted the ice pack a bit and cleared his throat.

She paused from toweling her hair and eyed him.

Sam wondered how long it would be before she could look at him without the sudden urge to land a blow. "I just wanted to thank you."

"For what?" She casually walked over to the towel rack and grabbed the only other clean towel and started in on her hair again.

Sam didn't say anything about it. She'd had a bad day, and some upset to her world view, and it was entirely his fault. If her pique was satisfied with a punch and stealing his towel, he would be getting off extremely light.

"For finishing off the ghost," he touched his neck gingerly, "before it finished me off."

"You're just lucky I found the lighter fluid in the dark."

"I didn't even think you were paying that much attention to what I was saying."

She leveled a look at him. "You kept talking about burning bones. Digging up the grave to burn the bones. I didn't have to pay that much attention to grasp what was involved."

"You don't usually use salt to start a fire."

Jess looked puzzled.

Sam frowned at her look.

"Salt. You had to salt the bones before you burned them to exorcise the spirit."

"I didn't know that. I just dumped in the lighter fluid and the matches. I don't know what happened to the salt."

Sam had seen the remains of the rucksack's metal buckle in the charred remains at the bottom of the grave when he had inspected it with his keychain flashlight, once he had determined neither of them was dying and had settled Jess a bit. So he knew the salt had ended up down there somehow. But as an accident... he felt ill as he realized that their close call had been even closer than he had imagined.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The washcloth full of ice he had been holding to his jaw was melting rivulets of water down his throat, leaving streaks in the grime.

"Why don't you go take a shower, Sam." Jess took a long look at the rising ring of bruises around his neck, his slumped posture, and his swollen jaw. "I'll even walk down to the office and get some more towels for you," she sighed.

"You don't have to."

She stood up and reached for the room key on top of the TV stand. "Yes, I do. Go take a hot shower. We can talk after you're clean."

"Talk about what shrink you're going to drag me to?"

Jess snorted and pulled the door open. "Only if they're doing a 2-for-1 special. We need to talk about what else goes bump in the night. I need to know what's out there if I ever expect to sleep again."

"Once I tell you, you really might never sleep again."

"Something to look forward too then," she said wryly as she slipped out.

 

~~~~~~~

Getting the towels had taken longer than she would have ever believed. It was almost thirty minutes of arguing and waiting before she was able to walk back to her room victorious, two more rough threadbare towels tucked under her arm. She assumed Sam would have just had to use her damp ones by now, but it was the principle of the matter that had kept her drumming her nails on the clerks counter long after there should have been any reason to pursue it.

But the water was still running when she pushed the door open.

"Sam?" she called warily.

There was no answer.

She closed the door behind herself, but didn't set the locks in case she had to run. The evening had been very educational and she wasn't ruling anything out anymore. Tossing the towels down on the bed, she grabbed one of the pokers off the dresser and crept quietly to the bathroom door.

Jess had insisted they bring the pokers into the hotel room with them, and had even pulled over at a Wal-Mart to buy an enormous amount of salt to replace what they had lost. Sam had taken it all in bemused stride, but he was used to living in a world full of ghosts and god-alone-knows-what-else. It was new to her, and what she needed to feel most while she digested this shocking new information was safe. Salt and pokers made her feel safer at least, and her boyfriend could just deal with it. Not that he had really objected. She kind of had the feeling he was waiting for her to start screaming and banging her head against a wall or something.

Jess didn't think that was going to be necessary, but she was holding that plan in reserve just in case.

"Sam?" she called again right outside the door. No answer, she thought she heard something moving though. "Sam? I'm coming in."

She twisted the handle and pushed the door open, slowly at the first, then shoved into the wall as soon as she got a good look inside. The poker she dropped careless to the carpet.

Sam was crumpled in the floor of the shower, it looked like he had fallen and grabbed out on his way down because the shower rod and curtain were tangled into a heap with him. He must have hit the taps too, because the water that soaked Jessica's shirt and skin when she reached out to find a pulse was shockingly cold. Soap was still bubbly in his hair and she gave an involuntary yelp of surprise when he suddenly grabbed her wrist.

"Jess..." he rasped.

She grabbed his chin to help him tilt his head so she could see his face better. Blood ran freely from his nose. He squinted his eyes shut and tried to wrench out of her grip. "Sam?"

"The light," he gasped, still trying to pull away.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Jess said flatly, straightening her back and preparing to stand.

Sam tightened his grip on her wrist.

"No doctors." She could barely hear him.

"Sam, you were half strangled a few hours ago, and punched in the face, now you've slipped in the shower, have blood dripping off your chin and can't even stand to open your eyes in the crappy light in this bathroom. A head CT is probably only the beginning of the things you need. At the least--" she eyed him a bit helplessly, "--if you don't feel like you have anything broken, let me drive you to the ER, just to get you looked over. We can tell them you were mugged."

"No ...no. I don't need ...doctor," Sam let her wrist go and tried to struggle to his knees.

Jess grimaced and reached out to help untangle him before he fell on his face.

They finally got him to his feet on the tile outside the tub. His skin was icy cold and she wondered uneasily how long he had been lying in the freezing water before she got back.

She ran and grabbed the towels to dry him off as best she could while he leaned against the wall and made fumbling attempts to help.

His nose was still bleeding so she finally just had him hold a washcloth against his face to keep his hands out of her way. His hair was still soapy.

"Sam, did you hit your head when you fell?"

He made an indecipherable noise, eyes closed and head tipped back against the wall.

"Sam -- your head, did you hit it?"

"No."

Jess nodded even though he couldn't see and turned the sink on until the water was warm.

"Come lean over the sink for me; let me get the soap out of your hair."

He shuffled over. It was awkward, but they finally got him twisted to where she could use the plastic cup that came with the room to pour warm water over his dark hair until the last of the suds were gone.

"You know," she commented, helping him back up and reaching for the towel to get as much water out of his hair as possible, "when I think of spending time running hands over my naked boyfriend in a hotel room on vacation, there is usually less blood and trauma involved."

"And property damage?" Sam asked weakly.

Jess appreciated the effort, and eyed the downed curtain and rod. "Not necessarily."

She gave him another critical look over. "You aren't going to let me take you in, are you." It wasn't really a question.

"No."

"Want to tell me what happened just now?"

"I'm cold, Jess. And my head is killing me. I just want to get warm."

She sighed and finished getting as much of the water out of his hair as seemed productive, then made sure he got tucked under the blankets. Jess checked the door, set the locks and made sure there was a poker on the nightstand when she curled herself around him a few minutes later. The lights were all still on. She didn't really have any plans to turn them off.

"What happened, Sam?"

"Had a vision."

"A vision," she repeated flatly. "Of course you did. Something else you just didn't get around to telling me about?"

"Don't have them very often," he mumbled, burying his face in her shoulder.

"Your nose had better have stopped bleeding."

He didn't reply and she was content to lie there for awhile in silence. She was really quite exhausted. If Sam wasn't going to die before the sun rose, she was starting to think she might do well with some sleep before starting in on the heavy interrogation... until she realized warm wetness was seeping into her shirt where his face was pressed into her.

"Sam!" She pushed him away. "I told you--" Jess cut off abruptly and sat up. He was crying.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"What I saw." Sam rolled onto his back and rubbed at one eye with the back on his hand. "I just don't know what to fucking do anymore, Jess."

"Tell me what you saw."

Sam opened both his eyes and looked at her. "You're taking this pretty well."

"What? That you have apparently incapacitating visions?"

"Yeah."

Jess leaned down off the bed to her dirty pants on the floor and pulled a travel pack of tissue out of the back pocket. She dropped them on Sam's chest. "Your nose again."

"I don't really know what kind of reaction you are looking for from me, Sam. Three days ago you told me you believed in ghosts and spent your childhood fighting them--" Sam made a sound like he wanted to interrupt but she spoke over him " --and we are going to leave it at ghosts for tonight, Sam. Tomorrow you can tell me what else I should be fearing for my life from, okay?" He didn't say anything so she continued with her thought. "And today you proved pretty conclusively that they exist. Which I'm still finding a little mentally traumatic, and there is the looming promise of a long and lengthy list of other monsters out there that you are going to let me in on as soon as I can stand to hear it and not run screaming, so ...all things being equal, I find the idea that you have visions, presumably things you see in your head that can't leap out from an alley and grab me, fairly unexciting. Or at least far down the line of things I plan to get excited about. I promise I will get there eventually." She patted his arm and watched him stuff tissue up his nose. "Now what did you see? I've known you six years, Sam, and I've never seen you cry."

"My brother. He was dying."

Jess frowned. "Right now? The brother whose ghost you saw in the churchyard?"

"Don't know, and yeah." He shook his head, and then winced, holding very still with his eyes shut. "There's no way of knowing when what I see will happen. Sometimes it's five minutes; some things I've never found out about."

"So maybe right now?"

"Maybe."

"Do you have his number? Can I call him?"

"He changes his number a lot, and I haven't had one for years."

"Do you know anyone who does?"

"Bobby might, give me a cell."

Jess grabbed her phone off the nightstand and handed it to Sam.

She waited impatiently while Sam punched numbers in, squinting against the pain in his head, and then held it to his ear.

"Bobby? It's Sam. Look, I know it's late, but I need to talk to Dean, it's an emergency. What? No. I'm fine." He was quiet for a minute, listening. "No, Bobby -- I had a vision. Yeah, about Dean. He was dying, Bobby! No, I don't know when. No, no way of knowing where. It was, um --dark? And loud. Really loud, and booming. I didn't see anyone but Dean. He was soaking wet and lying in water, I think. It was cold. No, I don't know anything else, Bobby. I need to talk to him, warn him." Sam was quiet again, then he sat up abruptly. "What do you mean you don't know where he is? This isn't a game, Bobby! Dean's going to die, and this may be the only thing that can save his life."

Jess could hear some excited speech from the other end of the line, but not well enough to make out any of the words. She saw Sam's eyes shimmer with tears again and he was nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I understand Bobby. Yeah, thanks. I'll have the phone. The number? It's my girlfriend Jessica's. You can call either number; she always knows how to find me. Yeah, fiancée. Thanks, Bobby."

Sam ended the call and let his hands drop to his lap. Jess took the phone and set it back on the nightstand.

"Bobby says congratulations," Sam said dully.

"He doesn't know where Dean is?"

"Even better, after he told me where to find Dean last time, he doesn't even have a number for him. It apparently didn't take Dean long to realize who must have told me where he was, and he blew up at Bobby and cut him off completely. He doesn't have a clue what Dean is up to now or who might know how to find him."

"So that's it?"

"He's going to call around and see if any of the other hunters he talks to might have crossed paths with Dean recently, or have heard anything about where he might be. Hunters move pretty fast though, so even if someone had heard something, the odds of Dean still being there are almost nonexistent."

"Hunters?"

"It's what we call ourselves, the people who do this -- hunting the supernatural."

Jess nodded. "So what now?"

"What do you mean, 'what now'? We go home. I have the Bar to study for, you have work on Monday. We still have wedding stuff to work out." Sam rubbed at his temples. "If Bobby hears anything he will give me a call."

"Is anyone going to go look for Dean?"

"Some people will probably keep their ears out, and if they happen to be in the area they might take a professional interest and do some poking around. Bobby will keep the pressure on as much as he can. But no, no one is going to drop everything they are doing and try and find him. Hunting is a dangerous business; one more hunter lost in the world isn't going to get anyone excited."

"But this plays into your visions from earlier, right? The ghost in the churchyard that means he wouldn't survive the year, and now a vision of how he dies?"

"The thing in the churchyard was technically a fetch, not a ghost. Fetches aren't dangerous, they're just ...death omens. Ghosts are angry spirits that can actually interact with the world and kill people. But yeah, they seem to be pointing the same way."

She ignored the impromptu monster lesson. "Just knowing he was going to die without any facts or details was enough to send you driving across the entire country to warn him, but now that you have some facts that could actually save him --no one is even going to look?"

"I knew where he was, Jess. He was in touch with Bobby. I did the best I could. And he was pretty damn clear about how much he appreciated my help."

"So he's going to die."

"I..." Sam heaved a breath, frustrated, "I don't know how he's going to avoid it without knowing what to look for."

"And you can live with this?"

"What do you want me to say, Jess! I don't want my brother to die, even if he does hate me, but there isn't anyone who is going to abandon whatever they are working on to make finding Dean their job. He's a full-grown hunter, and you accept certain realities when you work in the business."

"There isn't anyone? No one at all?" Jess's eyes were boring into him and he felt like he was missing something obvious, but his head was still aching from the trauma of the vision earlier, and the frustration of the situation.

"We don't have any family, Jess. And hunters don't work for money, they work out of obsession. Even if I had the money to pay one to take this on, no one would do it. Even besides the fact that hunting hunters is suicidal. They tend to be paranoid in the first place --shoot first and ask questions later."

Jess rolled her eyes and gave up. "Could you find him?"

"Me?" Sam looked at her, shocked. "I mean... I'd have a better shot than most people, but this isn't a weekend trip, Jess. This could take months, if I could do it at all. And I would have no way of knowing when ...when it happened. So if I didn't find him I would still have to try for the entire year. An entire year, Jess. That's what I would have to assume this would take."

"Anything happening in the next year you can't postpone?"

Sam was starring at her, baffled.

"You've graduated school, you don't have any loan payments, and you don't have a job yet. What's keeping you here?"

"I went to college to get away from hunting, and now you want me to jump right back in? What about the Bar? The wedding? What about you, Jess?!" He shook his head, ignoring the blinding pain it caused. "I tried to get back talking with Dean. I tried to reach out to him and he backhanded me again. He hates me, Jess. He really does. I don't know why, and he wouldn't tell me, but I've done what I can for Dean. I don't owe him anything else and I'm not going to sacrifice you for him."

"This isn't hunting, Sam. This is finding your brother. The Bar will be there whenever you want to take it. The wedding --I'll make that up to my mom, somehow-- but we can be married by any Justice of the Peace. And as for giving me up, Sam -- ignoring the insulting idea that I wouldn't wait for you for a year while you try to save your bother's life, you don't have to worry about that since I'll be sitting shotgun right along side you. When I'm not driving, of course."

"What the hell are you talking about, Jess?"

"Our road trip to find my brother-in-law." Jess said calmly, with a strange light in her eyes that reminded Sam of the Jess he had first met in undergrad, the flame that had drawn him in.

"Jess..." Sam shook his head, unable to believe where this conversation seemed to be heading. "You can't. Your entire life is here. Your family, your job, your friends. You can't give up everything to take up a life on the road for a year. What would you even tell people?"

Her expression was steely. "I'd tell them my fiancé and I are taking a pre-wedding extended honeymoon and the rest is none of their damn business. As for what I would be "giving up" -- I gave up med school and Doctors Without Borders for you, Sam! Why would you think I'd choke over losing a tech job in a cubicle and facing a few awkward questions from the family? Our lease ends next month; we can shove all of our stuff into storage and live off our savings."

"Our savings won't cover a year, even if we slept in the car and bathed in YMCAs. Somehow I don't see your parents funding this, even if we could tell them what it was for. And what the hell do you mean you gave up med school for me?!"

"My trust fund opens up to me the day I turn twenty-five. Our savings will get us by until then." She frowned. "I can't imagine hunting pays much. How did your family stay afloat?"

"We might get around to that one day," Sam hedged. "Med school?"

Jess shifted on the bed and stretched her legs out in front of her. "I didn't mean to say that. And it can wait until tomorrow; we've covered enough stuff tonight. We're both injured and tired, we should just get come sleep."

"I really need to hear more about this, Jess."

"It's stupid, Sam. And it doesn't mean anything, doesn't really have anything to do with you at all."

"That's how I feel about this road trip to find Dean idea you've latched onto. It doesn't have anything to do with you."

She flared up. "You're talking about the death of your only living relative. The man who is supposed to be my brother-in-law, and regardless of anything else, is still a human being. If we can stop his death we should at least make the effort!"

"And you're my fiancée! Stupid meaningless things don't slip out accidentally. I want to know what you meant, Jess!"

An almost sullen silence settled between them. Sam's head was still throbbing; he grimaced and turned on his side to face her.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we should both get some sleep; there isn't anything else we can do tonight no matter what. Things might look different in the morning."

Jess nodded slowly. "Okay."

"I'm not going to stop asking, Jess."

She didn't say anything, but curled back up in the sheets and waited for sleep.

  
Chapter Seven

 

"There is nothing more frightful than ignorance in action."  
                                    -Johann Wolfgang van Goethe

 

"If we weren't engaged, if you had never met me, and just continued on in life like you were when I met you --what would you be doing right now?"

Jess groaned and rolled onto her back. The aches and pains of the day before had blown into agony. She couldn't think of anything offhand that made her want to survive the next five minutes.

Then the tantalizing aroma of coffee registered. Maybe there was one thing.

"Whatever time it is, Sam, it's way too early to pick this back up." She cracked an eye open.

Sam had pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and was sitting next to her, wearing his jacket and holding a cup of coffee loosely in both hands. The bruising that had been faint yesterday was much more apparent, the greenish black mark on his jaw especially vivid, but she was too achy and tired to feel any real guilt about that.

Another cup was steaming on the nightstand, and she dragged herself into a sitting position and reached for it.

"What would you be doing, Jess?" he repeated.

The clock said 7 a.m. "I'm pretty sure I would be sleeping, Sam."

He didn't say anything, just watched her thoughtfully and sipped at his coffee.

She sighed. "I don't know. Be about to graduate med school probably."

"Why aren't you doing that now?"

"Sam, this isn't anything that was your fault. When people get new priorities sometimes they have to reevaluate old ones."

"If you would have been in med school if you hadn't met me, then clearly it's has to be something to do with me, fault or not. I don't understand why you changed your mind."

"I wanted to go to med school so I could do third world relief work, Sam. I wanted to travel and make a difference to people where no one else would, or could. I wasn't really thinking of getting married, having a partner. I didn't really have the sort of career goals that go hand in hand with a husband and kids. And then I met you, and I found that I wanted different things. Besides, the kind of law you want to do? You need a partner who can hold up their end of the deal, throw the right parties, know the right people." She shrugged.

"When you met me I wanted to do legal aid work," Sam said in a low voice.

"And when you asked me to marry you, you were interning with one of the biggest corporate firms in town and spending every happy hour schmoozing some of Dad's best buddies to get an edge for the job application. Not that you really had to apply," she added wryly, "Dad was never going to risk his son-in-law working for a subpar firm. But I grew up in this kind of life, I didn't walk into anything and get taken by surprise, Sam."

"You never said anything."

"When I made my plans it was just me. When it was you and me ...I knew I had to make some changes."

"But why not med school? You could still be a doctor --there are people right here in this city that need help."

"I had degrees that were immediately employable and could get me a job that would support us both while you went through law school. The only thing your undergrad degree was going to get you was a spot at a fast-food joint. We didn't need to start our life together with both of us drowning in debt. And as for going now --I never wanted to be a suburban practitioner. I wanted adventure, and to see the world, and to … I don't know, feel like every day I was making a difference. That might be naïve, but I wanted to give it a shot. But medicine requires so much more college, and then a residency, and the stress, and the hours, and to be another city doctor... I have nothing but respect for them, but if I couldn't have exactly what I wanted, then I decided wanted other things more. I don't want to spend my life apart from you, I want us to be together."

She took another long sip of her coffee.

"The way it is now, I can hang on at my current job until you are established and we are ready to start really settling in. It's not like I actively hate my job. The translation business is just ...routine. And when children are right, I can go part-time, or quit. Your schedule will probably be insane for years. This way I'll be there with the kids, and able to rearrange at least my schedule so we can maximize our time. And it's not like with my family I don't know how to help you work the social circuit. It just seemed like the best plan."

Sam was appalled at the bleak vision of their future she was painting. "Jess ...I never wanted you to give up your dreams for me. I don't want you to sacrifice the things you want to do in life so you can raise my kids and host parties for my career."

She quirked a wry smile in his direction. "You know, that sounds a lot worse when you say it."

"Why didn't we talk about this?"

"You seemed so driven; I didn't want you to feel like you had to choose."

"You didn't have to be the only one to make changes, Jess! I don't have to do corporate law, there are tons of other things I can do with a law degree that will help pay the bills perfectly well, and not ...just not be what you described. Like legal aid. It's still intensive, but no one expects you to stay until midnight and show back up at five. And …maybe I could even do something international if you wanted a career with travel. I'm sure those organizations you were interested in need legal advisors or something."

"You used to want to do that sort of thing; why did you change your mind?" She asked curiously.

Now it was Sam's turn to shrug. "After I met you--" he broke off abruptly.

"Sam?"

"We're idiots."

"We spent yesterday getting tossed around the cemetery by a ghost, and up at the crack of dawn to hash out our relationship. I'm not going to argue with that."

"No, I mean," he chuckled, "it's really not that funny. I just can't believe we never talked about any of this. I switched my focus after I met you and your family and we got serious. I never planned a career that would give me more than enough money to pay the rent and eat. But your family ...I wanted to give you the kind of life you grew up with. I didn't want you to regret marrying me in ten years when we were still living in low-income housing, clipping coupons."

"It's a good thing we are both holding hot coffee, because I could be extremely tempted to bludgeon you with a pillow about now. I wanted to live in a tent, in the backest back-waters of Africa, and possibly never come home." Almost definitely never come home. She loved her parents, but she wanted something for her life that was so wildly different from their own expectations that they would never understand. And when she was around them, surrounded by her family and all the familiar things of her upbringing, it was easy to forget, easy to fall into the trap of their life, to see how they saw, and to want what they wanted.

In Sam she had seen something that grabbed her, something exciting and different. She had wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, but the price of having him had been her heart. When he began to turn towards the road that led to her parents' life, she hadn't been able to turn away from him. She didn't even really want to. Next to the reality of their relationship and their future, her dreams of adventure and travel seemed almost childish and distant. She had thought that maybe that was just the price of growing up.

But now she saw a new possibility, another chance to grab the brass ring.

Sam held his cup out like a toast, "To long life, happiness, and telling each other what the hell we are up to before we rearrange our lives in misguided attempts to please the other person."

She smacked his cup with hers and swallowed the last of her coffee. "I'm glad we've got this all out in the open, Sam. Now that we are agreed neither one of us are doing what we want anyways, it seems like an ideal time for a road trip."

"Jess--" Sam began.

She cut him off, "Can you really live with yourself if he dies, and you didn't even try? Really, Sam? I mean, I've never met the guy, but from the very little you've said he was clearly the most important person in your life for almost twenty years. And now he's your only blood family left. You know he's going to die, you know how he's going to die --or at least have clues-- and we have just established that neither of us is doing anything we care about at the moment. You can take the Bar anytime, you don't need the job offer, our lease ends next month, we have savings for now and a trust fund opening soon, and I certainly am not being held in place by any great love for my employment - why not try and save your brother? Clearly you and I have communication issues. At the worst, we spend a year on the road exploring the country while you explain this whole hunting thing to me and we work on our relationship. I'm not seeing the problem here."

She slid off the bed and started stuffing dirty clothes into the empty duffel.

"What are you doing, Jess?"

"Time's a'wasting, Sam. You said your vision could be anytime, so the sooner we get moving the better."

Sam looked somewhat lost. "We can't just pack up and go! We have to put things in storage, and tell people. I need to let people know I'm not going to sit for the Bar this turn, and we have to let people know the wedding is postponed. I don't know what to tell your parents..." he trailed off.

Jess ducked her head by him as she grabbed her dirty shirt from the day before off the floor and planted a noisy affectionate kiss on his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"I love you." She tied her boots, zipped the bag up, hooked the strap over her shoulder and grabbed the keys off the dresser.

"We leave anything else?"

"I think that's everything."

"Great. Don't worry about all those things you just mentioned. I mean, take care of your Bar stuff, I'll grab some cardboard boxes when we get back so you can pack everything you don't want to lose for storage, and then you can hit the road tomorrow morning."

"What happened to "right by your side"?" Sam asked as she herded him towards the door.

"Oh, I will be. Just as soon as I close out the apartment and have it out with my parents. I can take a bus or something to wherever you are in three or four days. I figure I'll lock the stuff we plan to keep in storage, and post the rest on Craigslist for immediate pick up."

"I still can't believe how enthusiastic you are about doing this. This is completely upending our lives -- it's a huge thing…."

"All the better to get rolling before the second thoughts kick in then," she said firmly, tossing the bag in the backseat and sliding into the car.

"I'm still on first thoughts."

"Are you happy, Sam?" Jess demanded. "Are you looking forward to the next decade working sixty- or seventy-hour weeks making rich people richer and only seeing natural daylight in photographs?"

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No."

"Then what's to stop us? Let's get out before we get trapped! We don't owe anyone anything right now, we have money, and we have time. I've never been farther away than Colorado, and I suddenly have a desperate need to see the Eastern seaboard. I want to see it with you, and I don't want you to live with the guilt of not even having tried to save Dean. Even if he is a jackass."

"Okay."

"That's it?" she asked suspiciously.

"I can't argue with your logic. Maybe in a year we can come to a mutual decision over what we want our future to be, together." Sam still looked a little stunned, but his next question was pure concern. "Are you sure you don't want me to talk to your parents with you?"

"I've got it covered. There's no reason for both of us to have to beard the lion, and I have more practice. Where are you going to start looking for Dean?"

"Tennessee, I suppose. Bobby said he hasn't heard anything from Dean since then, and I know for sure he was there four days ago."

"That would make this a very short trip."

"Maybe. But just because we find Dean, doesn't mean we have to come home." Sam said, sounding more relaxed than he had since his vision the night before.

Jess grinned. "Glad you're on board. This would have been a lot more difficult if I had to stuff you in the trunk."

 

  
Chapter Eight

 

On the road again  
Goin' places that I've never been  
Seein' things that I may never see again  
And I can't wait to get on the road again  
                                    ~On The Road Again, Willie Nelson

 

Sam was pacing the worn green carpet in room 107 of the Key West Inn in Cookeville, Tennessee, ten days later when the Nashville airport shuttle dropped Jess off in the parking lot. At a loss for what else to do after discovering that Dean had moved on, Sam had rented the room his brother had been using at their last meeting in the futile hope of finding anything that might suggest where Dean had headed next.

There was a banging knock, and he opened the door to catch a double armful of his excited fiancée.

Her backpack swung down off the shoulder she had tossed it over and bashed him in the side with the force of her impact.

Sam staggered back, his legs hit one of the chairs and he went down into it under her weight. All the air flew out of his lungs, and when he tried to breathe again her lips were glued to his.

After a leisurely exploration, Jess found her feet again and smiled down at him. "Miss me?"

"Like breathing," Sam wheezed.

She rolled her eyes and shrugged her coat off onto the table. "Don't be such a baby; I just survived a two hour ride in a freezing van that smelled like tobacco and sweat. We won't even discuss the plane ride. And you're damaged because of a kiss?"

"You could have gone Greyhound."

"Don't think I won't next time. But that would probably have had the same special ambiance, just for longer." She looked around the room with interest. "Find anything?"

"You mean since your last phone call an hour ago?" He took her bag and dropped in on the dresser. "No."

Jess nodded, tugging her t-shirt over her head. "I need a shower, and a nap. But I can sleep in the car. We have a place to head?"

"I have some ideas, nothing promising enough that we can't stay here one more night and let you get some sleep in a bed." Sam watched the disrobing with interest.

She paused in the act of tugging her jeans off her hips. "I haven't seen you in almost two weeks, and things weren't exactly hopping before that. If we stay, and sleeping is the only thing that happens in that bed tonight, I will be deeply disappointed in you."

Sam gave her a lazy smile. "Do we have to wait until tonight?"

"We have to wait until I have a shower, and not for another damn thing."

 

~~~~~~~

Later the haze of twilight was filtering through the cheap curtains. The heater under the window was doing a poor job compensating for the icy cold radiating through the glass, but curled up together in the bed, Sam and Jessica were hardly aware of it.

Sam blew a strand of her blond hair away from his face and traced a finger over her collarbone. "You're going to need another shower."

"You too. A shame we'll never fit into the stall together," Jess murmured sleepily.

"How did closing the apartment up and things with your parents go?"

She yawned and stretched, rolling away from him and arching her back. "Fine. Everything I couldn't get Craigslist people to come pick up I had the Salvation Army haul away. The stuff we picked out to keep is stashed in long-term storage for twenty bucks a month; I let the landlord keep half the deposit for cleaning. I didn't know you could get dust that deep on a carpet. We really should have moved the furniture and cleaned behind it at some point."

"What about your parents?"

Jess smiled without opening her eyes. "I took a line from someone I know and left them a note on my way to the airport this morning. They probably aren't even home to get it yet."

Silence. She cracked an eye open and looked at Sam, even in the dimness she could make out the appalled look on his face.

"You, of all people, aren't going to lecture me on that are you?"

"Jess! They're your parents! Don't you think they are going to be a little upset that you just upended your entire life and set off on an extended road trip!"

Jess sat up and looked at him with interest. "I didn't know your voice could get that high."

He glared. "You said you were going to talk to them, try to explain so they didn't send the cops after you."

"I am going to explain. I'm just going to do it from a distance."

"So you don't have to see your mom cry?" Sam demanded, annoyed. "This is why I offered to go with you -- we owe them a chance to be concerned and ask questions. To let them see we both want to do this."

"Excuse me for not feeling like having to climb out a second story window to get to the airport."

"Like having to ...what?"

"My dad is a big believer in order, and that with enough time to think everyone will come to see the world his way."

Sam blinked.

"He wouldn't have seen anything wrong with trying to lock me in my old bedroom for a few hours," she said dryly, "just as long as it took him to have me committed."

"You aren't serious."

Jess just looked at him.

She waited until his eyes grew big before grinning. "Probably not. But I did wait until the last minute, and then they took an unexpected trip to visit my aunt for the day so I wasn't able to actually speak with them. It's probably just my positive karma working in my favor. I've always--" she broke off as her parents distinctive ringtone started up from her purse across the room.

"That must be your positive karma calling now," Sam suggested as he slid out of bed and headed towards the bathroom.

"Hey! I thought you wanted to be by my side while I did this?"

"I'll be sending you good thoughts from the shower. Give your mom my love."

"Coward!" Jessica yelled as he closed the door and she scrambled for the phone.

 

~~~~~~~

"I'm not answering that anymore."

Sam frowned without taking his attention off the road. "It's been a week, what else do they want to know?"

"When I'm coming home," she sighed. "I stopped being polite Tuesday, I've been on 'when I damn well feel like it' for the last three days."

"Would it make things any better if I spoke to them?"

Jess snorted."No. Right now you have been reduced from "favored future son-in-law" to "that evil bastard who poisoned our sweet baby," so trust me that you don't want to talk to them anytime soon. Once they calm down I think they will actually be relieved we're together and I'm not out wandering around on my own."

"When do you think that will happen?"

"In about eleven months."

"Ah."

She pressed the ignore button and settled back into her seat again. They were flying through Kentucky on their way to check out another possible Dean sighting. It had been eight days since she had packed her bags and fled Palo Alto to meet Sam in Tennessee.

Eight glorious days of freedom.

Even with all the awful things she was learning about her fiancée's past, and the horrible things that were lurking in the dark, she still woke up every morning tingling with euphoria. She had the two things she wanted most in life: Sam, and her freedom.

For his part, life on the road was settling around Sam like an old familiar coat. Almost seven years of college and so-called mainstream life falling away like a dream. Occasionally he would zone out on the road, and snap back to himself surprised to find that he wasn't in the Impala.

That Jess wasn't Dean.

And then he felt guilty.

Leaving had been his choice; turning away from him for it had been his father and brother's. When Sam had wanted something other than a horror-show vagabond life, his family had rejected him completely; but when Jess had found out that Sam was different than other people she knew, she had thrown herself into the insanity with him with both feet. She had his back ...and his belly. And any other body parts she felt like claiming.

His sudden smile caught her attention.

"Something you want to share with the rest of the class?"

"I love you. Want to sleep in a tent tonight?"

She arched an eyebrow and glanced pointedly out at the frozen landscape, but her only comment was, "did we bring that many blankets?"

"The sleeping bags zip together. Hotel room walls are just so ...thin."

"I like tents," Jess agreed. She tossed the map she had been reviewing into the backseat and kicked her sock covered feet up onto the dashboard. "Now, you were telling me about Reapers?"

  
Chapter Nine

 

"He said to me in a dreadful voice that I had indeed escaped his clutches, but he would capture me still."  
                                                                        -St. Teresa of Avila

"Absolutely not."

"Boy, I have spent umpteen hours trying to track down that wayward brother of yours. Hunting a damn hunter who don't want to be found is no easy task, and I've had to let a few other things slide in the meantime. That doesn't mean I haven't got responsibilities that need looking after. Now you're here, and there is no reason in the world you can't go do this one simple thing for me."

"I'm not a hunter anymore, Bobby."

"I thought this whole road trip of yours was about hunting!"

Sam gave him a frustrated look. "Hunting for Dean, not hunting for monsters."

"A lot of them monsters are a damn sight less scary than your brother," Bobby snorted. "It's just a salt and burn, Sam. Not even a particularly active ghost. Probably won't even see it."

"If it was so inactive, it wouldn't have come to a hunter's attention. There's no such thing as 'just a salt and burn,' and you know it, Bobby! I'm not getting back into this."

"Into what?" Jess asked, walking in with a bag of groceries. They had been holed up at Bobby's for three days now and she had insisted on at least cooking the older hunter a meal to pay for his hospitality.

"Hunting!"

"I have a ghost problem, but I promised some guys out West I would stick by the phone and the library to offer emergency support for a few days while they track down a--" Bobby paused, giving Jessica an appraising look, "--well, something nasty. Anyways, Sam here says he won't help me out, even though the only reason the damn thing hasn't already been dealt with is because I've been so busy trying to track down his fool brother."

Jess nodded, and then skewered Sam with a look. "Can I talk to you outside for a sec?"

Sam gave a short nod and stormed out. Jess followed with rolled eyes and a "one minute" sign to Bobby.

She trailed him a short distance from the house. Even this far into April, South Dakota was still feeling the chilly drafts of a slowly receding winter. She was glad she still had her coat on.

"What's the problem?"

"The problem! The problem is I'm not a hunter anymore, Jess. And you sure as hell aren't either!"

"He isn't asking you to don your dragon-scale armor, lift up the sword of Michael, and do battle for the world, Sam! He just wants us to go get rid of one ghost. Just like the one we did back home."

"And you remember how well that went! You still buy five pound bags of salt every time we enter a grocery store and sleep with a poker beside the bed. It's never 'one little ghost.' We do this, presuming we survive, and next time it will be 'one little werewolf,' or 'one little shapeshifter,' and before you know it, we are driving around the country stomping out supernatural fires as a full time job just like every other hunter out there!"

"Bobby knows I'm not a hunter, and he knows you've been away from it for a long time. I'm sure he wouldn't ask us to do anything dangerous."

Sam glared at her.

"Anything exceptionally dangerous," Jess hastily corrected. "And he is doing us a huge favor with Dean. Why don't you at least look into it, and if it seems like it might be a low key sort of thing we can handle, then ...we really do owe him."

Her eyes narrowed. "And the salt and poker is just good sense. Like locking the front door at night."

"Whatever."

"Sam..."

"I'll look into it. But if I say no, then that's it, Jess. You don't get an equal vote on this. Not on hunting stuff."

She nodded, satisfied. "Deal."

 

~~~~~~~

Jess loitered outside, petting Rumsfeld and generally wasting time until she presumed Sam had had enough of a chance to smooth things over with Bobby, then she slipped back in to make dinner.

Bobby was waiting for her in the kitchen. He wordlessly held out an opened beer to her.

She snagged it and slid into a seat.

"Something on your mind?" she asked.

"My kitchen, didn't think I needed an invitation to sit in it."

"I'm pretty sure cooks get kitchen prerogatives, even visiting ones."

He saluted her with his own bottle. "Sam's upstairs looking over some notes I have about the ghost." He took a long pull of his beer. "He's not wrong, you know, to not want to take any jobs. He's worried about you getting hurt, or worse."

"I notice no one has suggested I stay behind yet."

"It doesn't take a genius to see you two come as a set. It's not my business to try and talk you out of it; I have to assume Sam's already tried and failed."

"It's my life. I may not have the experience or the knowledge of an actual hunter, but I saved us both on the last ghost hunt. As long as this is similar, I think I can judge the risk for myself."

Bobby snorted.

"You know how Sam feels about hunting," she continued. "I don't think you would have asked him to do this if it wasn't important, and we do owe you for helping us find Dean."

Bobby stared at his beer for a long moment. "That eager to find him, are you?"

"I don't know him. But I love Sam, and I don't want him to have to live with the guilt of knowing how Dead died, and not having at least tried to save him."

"Even if you do find him, he's not likely to give you guys a warm reception."

"He doesn't have to be happy about it, he just has to shut-up and listen for five minutes."

Jess hesitated, "Do you know what happened between them?"

"Them who?"

"Sam and Dean," she hurried on, before Bobby could tell her it wasn't her business, "only I've asked Sam, and he honestly seems confused. I really don't think he has any idea of why Dean hates him."

"Dean doesn't hate him."

"That's not what Sam says, and that's not what it sounds like from their last little visit together either. Sam is completely convinced his brother hates him, and I haven't seen or heard anything to contradict that. Not even calling when their father died? That would be unforgivable to me."

"What John wanted," Bobby grunted.

"He wanted Sam to think Dean hates him? Or he didn't want Sam to know he was dead?"

"It's not any of our business."

"Sam is my business," Jess said firmly. "And from what he has to say, Dean was the absolute center of his universe from the day he was born until the day he said he wanted to go to college, and suddenly Dean hates him for some reason no one feels like telling him about? That isn't fair, that's like … junior-high level drama."

Bobby sighed. "I'm not getting anymore involved in this. It's a mess from the ground up, and there isn't going to be anyone happy at the end. I said I would help you guys save Dean's life, if it can be saved, but that's the limit of my involvement. Don't try siccing your boyfriend on me either, I'm not gonna have this talk with Sam. He wants to know, he's gonna have to find Dean and ask."

"He did ask!"

"Maybe he should use smaller words, and a tire iron."

Jess glared.

Bobby gave her a nod and drained his bottle, before leaving to go work on something outside.

Jess sat for a few more minutes, sipping her beer and thinking about the conversation, before digging into the grocery bag to get dinner started.

  
Chapter Ten

 

"Never believe anything you see on Halloween."  
                                                                         -Reverend M. Goodman

 

The "little salt and burn" was a vanishing hitchhiker type. Unfortunately, instead of catching rides, the ghost was appearing in the road causing accidents. No fatalities yet, but that was just a matter of time.

Sam had continued to gripe and bitch, but had finally agreed that they would go and check it out.

The story on this ghost --as best as Bobby could find out-- was that it was some teenager in the fifties run down by a bunch of drunks, who then panicked and buried the body in the woods nearby. Unmarked, of course. One of the drunks in question had made a tearful confession to a sheriff while arrested on a completely unrelated incident years later, but he had been unable to remember where on the highway the accident had occurred, much less the location of the burial. If not for that confession, they wouldn't have any idea at all about the ghost's history.

The spirit hadn't made an appearance until a developer started clearing land for new housing about three years ago and apparently woke it up. Seemingly the ghost had liked its woodland home. But the accidents were piling up, and since the people were unlikely to leave, the spirit had to go.

Locating the grave had been surprisingly easy. Sam had given her a run-down on finding unmarked burials during the drive out to the site. It was interesting; when she thought of "graves" it pulled up a pretty generic idea of a coffin, and a six-foot pit --maybe with a tasteful headstone at the top. But she had to agree with Sam that a couple of guys half-drunk in a panic were probably not going to manage six-feet before they rolled the body in. Sam said that the easiest way to stop animals from immediately digging the body back up was to pile rocks on top, and hopefully the guys who had done the burying had had the wits to realize that much --since they wouldn't want their victim showing back up and all. Otherwise, if the corpse couldn't be located intact, Sam wasn't sure how they were going to go about banishing the ghost.

Luck had been with them. By pinning all the sightings on a map they had been able to set up a fairly reasonable search area, and literally tripped over the uneven jumble of loose rock not even three hours after they started looking, despite the thick drift of leaves that had built up around it over the decades. By then the sun had been going down, so Sam tied a bright strip of plastic flagging to the closest tree, then to a few more on the way back to the car so they would be able to find the site again in the morning.

Opening the grave the next morning was fairly quick work, moving the stones covering it had almost taken longer.

Sam had generously allowed her to do half the shoveling.

Jess was appalled at how much sheer work it was, her back aching and palms stinging by the time she was halfway through her turn. She was grateful Sam had brought along some work gloves in her size, but the way he hovered beside the slowly developing trench, waiting expectantly for her to give up, was irritating. She finished her half just to spite him, and watched enviously as he seemed to effortlessly excavate the rest of the shallow grave.

He looked up when done to find her staring at him. Sam flashed a grin, "Like what you see?"

"Next time, take your shirt off."

"Not in this weather, even with the work-out," he demurred. "Ready for the next step?"

Jess held up the bag of salt and tossed him the lighter fluid. She had been keeping a paranoid look-out for the ghost when they had first started digging, but the late morning sunshine and calmness of the surrounding forest had lulled her into a sense of security. Distracted by backbreaking work and her fiancé's muscles, her attention had wavered somewhat.

Sam didn't seem concerned about it.

"Why don't we just make a big salt circle around the grave to begin with --for protection?"

"The ghost is tied to the bones, if we draw the circle around them, it will just manifest inside with us."

"So the answer is no circle at all?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Did you notice that doing us a lot of good last time?"

Jess poured the bag of salt out onto the weathered bones lying partially exposed about three feet down. "It's sad."

"What is?"

"He was killed by lowlifes, and no one knew where he was, we still don't know who he is, and after this he won't even be a ghost to remind people he existed."

"He's been dead a long time, Jess. Saving the lives of the living is more of a priority than keeping around the memory of someone who died more then fifty years ago."

"Still, sad."

Sam nodded in agreement and squeezed the lighter fluid out over the bones to mix with the salt. "Have the matches?"

"Yep." She bent to rummage them out of the rucksack. A new one, borrowed from Bobby.

A choked sort of noise brought her head back up with a snap. "Sam?"

He was on his knees beside the grave, clutching his head with both hands, his face locked in an expression of agony.

"Sam!" She scrambled to his side, his nose was bleeding and he didn't respond to her with anything but ragged gasping. She flashed back to the motel where she had found him in much the same state, but couldn't be sure this wasn't some kind of attack by the ghost, and so was fumbling with the matches in her hand to light the bones up when the wind began to blow.

 

~~~~~~~

The first hard gust sent the entire book of matches flying out of her hand and somewhere into the dense leaves. Sam had fallen to the ground behind her, still moaning and clutching his head.

"Sam! Sam, we aren't doing this again!" Jessica screamed over the howling wind.

Wind was suddenly blowing so hard it was all Jess could do to stand. She was going to be black and blue from being pelted with sticks and other forest debris. She didn't think she could keep a match lit in the gale, but it was the only option she could see.

She dived for the rucksack and another matchbook, snagging the bag with her fingertips just as the wind tried to fling it away. The matches wouldn't stay lit even long enough for her to drop them into the pit, and the wind was getting even stronger.

She about jumped out of her skin at the deafening thunder of a gunshot from feet away. The pit she was leaning over exploded into flames, sending her tumbling onto her back to avoid getting scorched. The air went flat still, and she clawed tangled hair out of her eyes to see what had happened.

Sam was lying on his side where she had left him, his face smeared with blood and deathly pale, but one hand was extended towards the grave, holding a revolver he had fired into the pit full of kerosene fumes. He was holding his head up, looking for her. When he saw her sit up and blink at him, he dropped back completely against the earth and lay still.

Jess took a moment to collect herself, then walked around the burning grave to sit next to Sam.

"Don't hit me this time," he mumbled.

"Not while you look so pathetic," she agreed, pushing his hair off his forehead and giving him a good look-over.

"Did the ghost do this?"

Sam grimaced. "Had a vision."

"Your visions have some bang-up timing."

He tried to nod, but cringed at the movement. "Let's not do this again."

"Yeah, next time Bobby can salt his own damn ghost. What was the vision about?"

"Not really sure. It had Dean, and some girl. Kinda confusing. Let me not think about it for awhile, and it might make more sense later."

Jess nodded, but her concern sharpened when a fresh line of blood trickled from his nose.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll live."

"How about walking? We didn't haul the camping stuff in with us, I guess I could go back and get it, but I don't really want to leave you alone out here if you can't even sit up."

"Let me lay here for a bit?"

Jess fished some forgotten aspirin out of the interior pocket of her coat, and didn't say anything about the wait. Even when almost five hours went by before Sam felt able to make the hike back to the car.

 

~~~~~~~

Sam scowled and threw the pencil across the room.

Jessica looked up from her magazine and raised an eyebrow. "That's a novel way to draw."

"This isn't working. My talents don't extend to drawing accurate depictions of people."

"Let me see what you have." She tossed the magazine onto the couch beside her and slid into a seat at the table to look.

"Wow."

Sam glowered.

"No, I mean it's really... really... Is that Big Bird?"

"Jess!"

"It's fine, Sam." She patted his arm. "Not everyone can be da Vinci."

"It isn't fine. This is the only clue we have, some fragmented vision of this woman -- and that she is related in some way to Dean. But if I can't get her image out of my head and onto paper, we aren't going to be able to find her," he growled, frustrated.

"And this didn't work out with that sketch artist friend of Bobby's why, again?"

"I can't hold her face in my mind like that. I can see her, but when I try to describe her, it never comes out right; the image keeps shifting." Sam rubbed his hands over his face in exhaustion. "I just can't ...this is more frustrating than having no clues at all."

"Go take a nap."

"What?"

Jess stood up and closed the sketch pad. "We've been here a month now, and I think Bobby is starting to feel crowded. He'll call us if he finds anything, but you need to get a little sleep, and then I think it's time you and I hit the road again."

"And go where, Jess? This woman, and my brother, could be anywhere in the country! Anywhere in the world even!"

She shrugged. "I've always kind of wanted to see New England."

 

 

  


 

** Chapter Eleven **

 

"Design must be proved before  
a designer can be inferred."  
                                    -Percy Bysshe Shelley

"But you have to be hot."

"I'm not wearing shorts, Jess. Especially not neon red shorts with palm trees on them."

"So you might be open to a different color?"

Sam gave her a withering look, which she completely ignored as she continued browsing through the sales rack.

Jess's own shorts were the result of taking a knife to her more ragged pair of jeans as soon as the temperature stopped dipping below sixty. Her latest mission was to convince Sam to do the same. More because he had so adamantly refused the first time she suggested it, than because she had any real investment in his choice of apparel.

Shopping had grown much more amusing since she realized that it wasn't just the idea of cut-offs he was opposed too, but any kind of shorts at all. Shorts for him anyways; he was nothing but supportive of her desire to wear them.

Middle Tennessee was almost unbearably hot in September. Even up on the Cumberland Plateau, where it was marginally cooler than the surrounding landscape, afternoon temperatures in the high nineties weren't uncommon.

She couldn't believe how fast time was going. They had criss-crossed the country several times in the last few months. From Mystic Seaport to the Everglades, Carlsbad Caverns to Yosemite. Sam flat out refused to do anymore hunting, but he was less opposed to running errands and package pick-up and delivery at Bobby's behest.

Jess had met a wide variety of strange and interesting people, and seen a great deal more of the world than she would have believed she would ever have the chance to just nine short months ago. She had met psychics, and seen magic, and other things both amazing and horrible --and that was just delivering packages. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be an actual hunter, and found herself not-unhappy that Sam refused to even entertain the idea of taking those kind of jobs.

It was September, and there was still no sign of Dean.

On the plus side, Sam had not suffered another one of his debilitating visions; on the negative side, that left them with nothing to go on but the one vision of the unknown woman.

Bobby had turned up nothing. Word had trickled back from a few sources that they might have lifted a glass with a hunter named Dean in various locations, but it was always days or weeks after the fact. There were never any signs by the time Sam and Jess could get there to check.

Sam had gone through a few weeks of depression as spring turned to summer and they made no progress, but lately he seemed to have grown somewhat resigned, and was taking more pleasure in the freedom of the road again.

Jess had had a bout or two of homesickness, but they were brief, and easily curable by calling her parents for a few minutes. They still weren't thrilled with the situation, but at least seemed to have accepted the fact that she wasn't heading back to California to take up her organized middle-class life anytime soon. She was suspicious that they had increased their life-insurance policy on her from the "just enough for a funeral" class to the "…and console our grief with a year-long cruise" bracket.

Sam seemed to find that endlessly amusing.

"I'm going next door to the Post Office," he called. "Do we need anything but stamps?"

"I don't think so. But hold up a sec, I'll come with you." Jess replaced the shirt she had been examining on the rack and followed Sam back out onto the street.

The tiny brick post office was almost empty. Sam browsed around looking at posters and stamp displays while Jess stood in the short line.

The teller called her up in less than five minutes.

"What can I help you with today?" The woman seemed bored, but friendly.

"Just stamps, I think."

"How many?"

"Ah ...hang on." She looked around for Sam and saw him standing at the end of the counter examining a cork board with some flyers tacked up on it. "Sam! How many stamps?"

He didn't answer her. Jess held up one finger to the woman behind the counter and went to grab Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, how many stamps?"

He turned to face her, one of the flyers from the board in his hands, expression fierce. "It's her."

"It's who?" Sam shook his head impatiently at her question and looked past her towards the woman at the counter. "Can I take this?" he asked loudly, but didn't wait for a reply from the confused looking attendant. "I'm just going to take this, ah... Have a nice day!"

Sam grabbed Jess's arm and dragged her out while the woman at the counter was still looking bemused.

"Look. Look!" He shoved the black and white missing flyer into Jess's hands. "It's her, Jordan Black. The woman from my vision."

Jess stopped walking and stared at the paper. "The one with Dean?!"

"Yes," Sam hissed, grabbing her again and pulling her down the street. He was looking over his shoulder like he expected the postal clerk to come running out at any moment demanding the poorly photocopied missing-person flyer back.

They ducked into a small diner on the corner and asked for a booth in the back.

The paper showed a petite woman with a snub nose, short curls, and a lively smile sitting on a porch swing. The background as far as could be made out in the poor quality of the copy job was generic trees, and could be anywhere. The lettering below the picture read:

**  
**                                     Jordan Black  
                                    5'7  
                                    Caucasian  
                                    Brown Hair  
                                    Blue Eyes  
                                    DOB: 7/7/88  
                                    Missing Since: 6/15/09 from Franklin, Tennessee  
                                    Last Seen Wearing: Purple T-Shirt, Jeans  
                                    If you have information please call:

But the piece of paper where the contact information should have been was ripped off.

Jess ran her finger over the tear in frustration. "What now?"

Sam motioned the waitress over. "Excuse me, how far away is Franklin from here?"

"Only about thirty minutes or so." She noticed the flyer. "Oh, that poor girl. Did you know her?"

Sam cast Jess a look, then turned to face the waitress directly. "Her parents knew my parents, we kind of grew up together, but we haven't been in touch in so long... I didn't even know she was missing."

"That must have been a real shock to see that flyer."

"It was, it really was," Sam said fervently. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Not much to tell, sweetie; just what was on the local news. Been a few months now, but I think she just vanished in the middle of the night." She looked away, distracted by another customer. "Looks like another table. Did you guys want to order anything before I go?"

"Ah, no. Thanks. Not right now."

"You all have a good rest of the day, then."

Jess waited until she was gone, then leaned in. "Thirty minutes away?! Nine months on the road, then out of the blue you see her face on some random flyer, and she's thirty minutes away?!"

"We don't know yet, Jess. She vanished from Franklin. No way of knowing where she is now."

"No," Jess agreed, sliding out of the booth and grabbing her purse. "But we know where to start looking."

  
** Chapter Twelve **

 

**Jordan Black:** Will we always be together?  
**Frank Black:** Of course.  
**Jordan Black:** Forever?  
**Frank Black:** Well, nobody gets forever.  
                                         ~Millennium

 

"Hi. My name is Jessica, this is my ...partner, Sam. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk to me about your roommate, Jordan Black?"

The mousy girl in the doorway looked confused. "The police and everyone came by months ago, and you don't look like cops."

"Oh, I'm not--"

Sam cut her off impatiently, "We aren't cops --Michelle, is it? We're writers. Working on a true crime novel about your roommate's disappearance, and we were hoping you might be able to help us out with some of the details."

Michelle's face brightened. "A book? That would be great! It's only been a few months, but it's like no one even remembers she's gone missing anymore. Maybe if you do a book people will be looking for her again. Come on in!" She stepped out of the doorway and motioned them inside.

Sam and Jess walked past her into the cool dark interior. The sagging couch, worn carpet, and mismatched furniture, with the bright eclectic prints on the walls and weird knickknacks, brought back flashes of undergrad off-campus living.

Jess caught the familiar grin on Sam's face and knew he recognized the ambiance. She leaned in to whisper to him, "This is much cleaner than our place ever was."

"Hey, I did my share of the dusting!" he whispered back.

She had started to reply to that, when her eye was caught by a painting over an old-fashioned looking furnace in the corner. The painting wasn't large, and the colors were somewhat jarring, but it was compelling nonetheless. It looked like it should be a forest scene, though the details of the trees and sky were indistinct. There was something else about it, though... Jess stepped closer. From right below the painting, she could see that the swirls of color and the brushstrokes themselves hinted at faces. There was also a heaviness to the center of the painting. Without being able to determine any actual changes in strokes or color, everything seemed to bend to the center of the painting, like it was being drawn in. The overall effect was …disturbing.

"This is amazing."

Michelle closed the door behind them. "Do you like it? That's one of Jordan's. She's an amazing artist. Even if you don't care for her subject matter, there is just something about her work. Here --you guys can sit anywhere, just not the right side of the couch; there isn't much support on that side and you would probably end up on the floor."

Jess sat on the left side of the couch, while Sam dragged a seat over from the table. Michelle came back from down a short hallway with a beanbag chair.

"What did you want to know?" she asked, flopping down on it.

Jess gave Sam a 'go ahead' look.

"Well, we really don't know very much at all. Just that she was an art student here, and vanished back in--" he flipped through his notebook, "--June, and no signs were ever found."

Michelle nodded. "It was completely weird. I was asleep, Jordan was at the table drawing when I turned in, I never heard anything. But when I woke up in the morning Jordan was gone, and every window in the house was broken."

"Broken, like someone had smashed their way in?" Jess asked.

"No. Outwards. There was no glass in the house, and it was all ...broken-up, like safety glass. Only it wasn't."

Sam frowned. "Wait --you said all the windows. Do you have a window in your bedroom too?"

Michelle nodded. "Yeah. Freaky, right?"

"What did the cops think about that?"

"You mean after they finished trying to find some way to accuse me of being involved? They didn't have a clue what happened. No one does." She looked down where she was twisting her fingers in the hem of her skirt.

"Did you and Jordan get along?" Jess asked gently.

"She was my best friend. She was in some of my freshman classes, but I didn't know her very well then. I missed the lottery to stay in the dorm my Junior year, and I didn't want to live alone. I'd never lived alone before. I don't know how Jordan found out about it, but she knocked on my door one evening and said she wanted more space than the dorms had, and asked if I wanted to be roommates. We found this place and moved in together. She brought her work with her..." Michelle's voice trailed off for a moment, lost in thought.

"Her work?" Sam prompted.

"Sorry. Her work is just …amazing. And she never seems to have to think about it, she just picks up a pencil, or some paint, and just ...does it. It would be easy to be jealous, but Jordan's just so friendly and honest. She'd give you her last dollar if you needed it and she would do it with a smile and a wave. I can't imagine who would want to hurt her."

"Could she just have left?"

"No. Absolutely not. She would never have left without telling me. And if she did, why leave her wallet and all of her stuff? She didn't even tell her dad."

"So she has family."

"She has a dad. Her mom died when she was little; she never said how, she didn't like to talk about it. She didn't like to talk about her dad either, but he came here after we moved in to see her and I met him then."

"What was he like?"

"Intense."

Sam gave her an encouraging smile. "That's it? Intense?"

"You would have to meet him." There was a tone of finality in Michelle's voice.

"So, are all of Jordan's paintings like that one?" Jessica changed the topic, pointing towards the landscape on the wall.

"No, that one is actually unusual. She normally only does religious-type stuff. Which is also odd, because as far as I could ever tell Jordan wasn't very religious. I think that painting may have been for a class --it was the last one she did before she disappeared."

"What do you mean by 'religious-type stuff'?" Sam asked.

Michelle stood up. "You can come see if you want, it's all still in her room."

"No one took her things?" Sam asked, standing to follow her.

"Nope. I mean, they went through them when she vanished, but except for some paperwork and identification stuff, they left everything here. Her dad never even came by that I know of after she vanished, though I guess he might have come with one of the detectives while I was at class."

Jessica frowned. "What about rent. Aren't you looking for another roommate to help pay for this place? How can they move in if her stuff is still here?"

Michelle shrugged and led the way into the short hallway she had brought the beanbag chair from earlier. "Her dad sends me a check for rent every month. He paid for the windows too."

"So he thinks she's going to come back. Did he think she smashed the glass?"

"I wouldn't want to guess about what he thinks. He's an odd guy. But I lived with Jordan for two years, and I can tell you this entire thing --broken windows, vanishing without telling anyone so that they worry-- that's all very not-Jordan. Here we are."

They had passed two closed doors in the hallway, and stopped in front of a third. Michelle turned the handle and pushed it open without entering. It was pitch black inside, and she reached around the door frame to find a light-switch on the wall.

"You don't want to go in?"

Michelle didn't reply, but then her hand found the switch and light blossomed in the room. After that neither Sam nor Jess could think of anything to say.

Angels looked down on them from every square inch of wall. Some were paintings, some were drawings in ink or pencil, and some were different mediums like etching. None of them were the same as any other, and all of them gazed down into the room with an air that made the hair stand up on Sam's neck. He understood why Michelle was still standing outside the doorway.

"That's ...powerful imagery," he said, at a loss for anything else.

Jess finally found her voice. "You said she wasn't religious?"

"Nope," Michelle said, leaning against the wall, "she just seemed to really like angels."

"Apparently." Jess took a step into the room. If she tuned out the images watching her from the walls, nothing else in the room was that unusual. A twin bed, rumpled with lavender sheets and a cheap purple comforter. Heavy artsy curtains blocked out every trace of light from a window. A desk made of polished wood suspended over two filing cabinets. Cheap shelving held a variety of art- and school-related texts, some with used stickers still dotting the spines.

Two photographs in hand-made frames had a shelf to themselves. In one, a very young girl with curly brown hair was having her feet licked by a large shaggy dog. She was laughing, sitting on the lap of a woman with long brown hair and a broad smile, on the steps of a yellow house. The other photo appeared to be of the same girl, now several years older. She was smiling, wearing winter clothes, with both of her arms wrapped around the arm of a much older man with graying hair, and deep lines in his weathered face. He was smiling too, but the expression lacked the girl's honesty and there was something heavy about his gaze that reminded Sam of his father.

He took the second photo from Jess to examine more closely.

"That other one looks like the Pacific Northwest from the trees," he told Jess, carefully handling the frame so he didn't damage the dried flowers decorating it. "I can't tell about this one, not enough greenery in the image."

He turned to Michelle, still out in the hallway, and held up the photo. "Is this Jordan's father?"

"Yes, and the other one is her mom. She told me once they used to have a yellow house in Seattle, so I guess that's where that picture is from."

"And this one --where is this?"

"Not sure, sorry. Her dad lives a few counties over, though. It gets cold enough around here to wear clothes like that in winter. It could maybe be at his place."

Jess opened the closet, after glancing at Michelle and finding no protest. The inside of the door, unlike the outside, only held one picture. Like the others it was an angel, in what looked like pencil this time, but unlike the others this one was in a matted glass frame and the paper it was drawn on looked like it was yellowing with age. Creases showed that it had been folded at some point. It was clearly the same style as the other angels in the room. The stark strong lines of the figure demanded an attention far beyond its surface appearance. The only other things in the closet were some folded blankets on the shelf, a laundry basket with what looked like socks and undergarments on the floor with a tangle of shoes beside it, and a neatly hung assortment of pants and tops. The clothes looked like they belonged to a slim woman of medium height.

"Why is this angel different?" Jess asked Michelle.

"She told me her grandmother drew it. I think it's the thing she valued most in the room. Maybe at all."

Jess raised an eyebrow, stepping back so Sam could see the drawing too. "Her grandmother? Is that who taught her to draw?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't think so -- she said her grandma died a long time before she was born."

"If she valued it so much," Sam frowned, "why was it in the closet? I would think she would want it out where she could see it."

"She left the door open a lot, but it used to be on the wall over her desk. Then one day we were sitting on the couch and she just sat up and said her dad was coming, and he shouldn't see it. The next time I went in her room, it was on the inside of her closet door."

Sam and Jess traded looks, but only commented on the drawing.

"Her dad didn't like the angel?"

Michelle shrugged. "From things she said, I don't think her dad liked any of the angels. I wasn't here the entire time when he visited, but as far as I know he never went into her room. He was on the couch when I left, and in the same place when I got back. That's the only time I know he visited at all. I asked her why that drawing was special once, and that's when she told me about her grandmother. She said it made her dad sad. It was his mom, so maybe it just brought up bad memories."

"Interesting. You said Jordan was sitting with you on the couch, then just suddenly seemed to know her dad was coming to visit?"

Michelle stiffened. "Yeah, she must have just remembered."

"So she didn't ...do things like that a lot, then?" Sam hedged

"Do what?"

"Seem to just know things."

"What kind of book did you say you were writing again?"

Closing the door and turning to the room, Jess decided to steer the direction of the conversation to safer waters. "True crime." She gave Michelle a reassuring smile. "Sam was just wondering if she had those kind of memory lapses a lot, maybe she had periods of confusion? It could be important to her disappearance."

"Oh! No." Michelle gave a nervous half laugh. "It sounded like you were accusing her of being, I dunno, psychic or something. I mean, she would zone out sometimes, act a little weird maybe. But she's an artist, it sort of goes with the territory."

"My first roommate was an artist," Jess agreed, her gaze caught on the backpack and purse slung over the rickety desk chair. "So when you said she didn't take anything, you're sure nothing was missing?"

"It's not my stuff, so I can't be absolutely sure -- but she doesn't have much clutter, not compared to my room anyways, and as far as I can tell there isn't anything gone." Michelle was still slouched against the far wall watching them.

"No clothes missing or anything?"

Michelle shrugged. "Not that I noticed."

"What was she wearing when she disappeared?"

"Mmmm, when I went to bed she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I think it was a violet school shirt, I remember asking her where she got it since it was pretty and not one of our normal school colors."

Sam picked up a piece of paper lying face down on the desk. When he flipped it over he saw that it was a half-completed drawing of yet another angel.

Michelle saw what he was looking at, "I found that on the floor the morning she vanished," she offered. "It was what she was working on when I went to bed."

"Anything odd about it?"

Michelle shrugged and waved her hand at the room in general as if to suggest, "what do you think?"

Sam showed it to Jess, who took it for closer examination. She frowned and brushed a finger over one of the lines. She looked up to scan the walls, then back to the angel in her hands.

"See something?" Sam asked.

"Not really, it just feels …I don't know. Different. Sad, maybe?" She shrugged and laid it back down on the desk.

Sam nodded and opened the desk drawers. He found only art and other school supplies inside, plus a few hanging folders with titles like "registration" and "medical stuff," which were empty. He glanced at their hostess inquiringly.

"The cops took all that stuff with them; they emptied her purse out too."

He nodded and closed the drawers. Sam lifted the closed sketchpad on the dresser and flipped through it, most of them were angels, but in the middle of the pad he frowned, then flipped through the rest quickly before coming back to the one page.

"I thought you said she only did angels?" He turned the pad to Michelle so she could see the incredibly detailed drawing of the rooster, very unlike the stark-lined angels watching from all around the room. Beneath it, in neat block text produced with the same charcoal used to draw the bird, was printed, "The Time Is Now."

Michelle looked at it and nodded. "It could have been something for class, or just a whim. I don't really know much about her assignments --I'm more into textile work. After that first year we didn't really have any classes together. The cops and people who came to investigate didn't seem to think much of it."

"Do you have any idea what it means, what 'time' the picture is talking about?"

Michelle shook her head. "Honestly, until that last FBI guy came by a few weeks ago, I didn't even know it was there. He seemed to think it was weird too."

"What FBI agent?" Jess shot in with, before Sam could speak up. She had spent a lot of time over the last few months hearing about various Winchester adventures, and was well aware what sort of covers they tended to use. It seemed unusual that an authentic lone FBI agent would wander by and interrogate the roommate of a missing college girl months after her disappearance when the case had been seemingly sidelined.

"I don't remember his name, sorry. He just knocked on the door one afternoon and said he was following up. He asked a lot of the same questions you did and wanted to see her room."

"What did he look like?" Sam demanded. Michelle looked a little confused and uneasy, he realized how odd the question seemed. Jess jumped in to save him.

"We just didn't realize the bureau was still investigating, " she said, sounding excited, "the agents we spoke with all seemed to think the case was shelved for the time being. If it's been assigned to a new guy, maybe he will be willing to speak more with us. But it would help us find him if we knew what he looked like."

"Why don't you just call and ask who's handling the case?"

"We already have. They say the case is a low priority, but maybe one of their agents has taken a personal interest and is investigating off the clock. If we have a description, we might be able to find out who," Sam suggested hopefully.

Michelle seemed to buy the cover. "He was, um, not quite as tall as you. With short hair and green eyes. He looked a little beat up and like maybe he wasn't feeling well. I offered to fix him a snack and a drink and let him sit for awhile, but he insisted he had more work to do."

"You sound like you paid some attention to him," Jess offered.

"I don't make time for a lot of guys with my schedule," Michelle grinned, "but I would have made time for him."

"That hot?"

"Definitely."

Both women smiled at each other knowingly.

"Yes. Thanks," Sam interrupted before the conversation could head to places he didn't really want to have to listen to. The description fit Dean perfectly, down to Michelle's female assessment of his charms. "Did he happen to mention where he was headed next? We might pick up some good details following his tracks."

Michelle finally entered the room from her post in the hallway, walked over to the shelf and pulled down an address book. Sam could see her flip through the empty pages until she found one with writing. She handed it to Sam.

"He asked for her father's address."

  
** Chapter Thirteen **

  
"A dreamer is one who can only find his way  
by moonlight, and his punishment is that he  
sees the dawn before the rest of the world."  
                                    ~Oscar Wilde

Crossville, Tennessee, was further from Franklin than Michelle's "a few counties" made it sound.

It was already late in the day, so they ended up spending the night in a motel before going to find Frank Black. Sam took the opportunity to do some research into the Black family.

"Anything good?" Jess wandered over to stand behind his shoulder, wringing her hair out with a towel from her shower.

"There are a lot of news articles that mention Frank Black. Apparently he used to actually be with the FBI, and it looks like he did a stint as a consultant out in Seattle. There is an article here about his wife being abducted--" Sam scrolled down the page.

"That's horrible. Is that when she died?"

"Mmmm... no. Looks like they got her back alive."

Jess skimmed the article, then leaned down to do her own typing. "Let's try Cath--"

"Hey, hey!" Sam protested, waving her off. "One person at a time. You go --finish drying your hair, or find some clothes or something."

Jess snorted, but conceded defeat and sat on the edge of the bed while Sam ran the search.

"Well?"

"It looks like a Catherine Black might have been one of the victims of that nasty outbreak they had in the Northwest about fourteen years ago. This is just a speculative list of names, but other than some articles on children's work --she was apparently a counselor-- it's the only hit I'm getting."

"I remember that; my parents didn't let us leave the house for three months."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that was about the longest we stayed anywhere when I was a kid. In Florida. South Florida."

"That must have been horrible for Jordan. Maybe explains her fascination with angels?"

"Maybe, but that picture by her grandmother is certainly a lot older than that."

"She fixated on it after her mom died?"

Sam shrugged, and seemed distracted by something he was reading.

He was still deeply involved five minutes later after Jess had tied her still damp hair up and dragged a pair of Sam's boxers and a t-shirt on.

"Find something else?" she prodded.

"There's a couple of blurbs in more questionable news sources speculating about Mr. Black. Internet conspiracy sites mostly, but it's weird."

"Conspiracy? Like aliens and who killed JFK?"

"Yeah, but these sites are linking him up to something called the Millennium Group, and accusing him of some kind of paranormal powers."

"Powers? What kind of powers?"

"Doesn't say, sites are pretty vague. Nothing on what the Millennium Group is either, just that they are a law enforcement consulting firm. I can't find anything else about them on the internet."

"A law enforcement consulting firm tied in with psychic powers," Jess repeated skeptically.

Sam shrugged. "Police stations have been consulting so-called psychics on the sly to help find victims for decades."

Jess snorted her opinion of that.

Sam gave her a pointed look, and she had the grace to blush slightly at the reminder of exactly what they were doing on the road in the first place. She moved on.

"Anything about Jordan?"

"Nope. Just her student bio for the college."

"What now?"

"I'm going to call Bobby and update him on where we are, then I guess we just go see Frank Black tomorrow as planned." He took note of what she was wearing. "Didn't we buy you some shorts for sleeping in?"

"I like your boxers better."

"I'm amazed they even stay up on you."

"It's the miracle of the female hip." She tossed him one of the cell phones to call Bobby and waved the other one. "I'm ordering out for dinner --preferences?"

"Not as long as it's hot. Why don't you call your parents while you're at it?"

Jess gave him a withering look.

"I have a theory that periodic proof that you're alive makes it less likely they take a hit out on me. Indulge my paranoia?"

She rolled her eyes, but nodded and flopped on the bed with the phone book.

Sam took his cell outside to call Bobby.

 

~~~~~~~

"Frank Black? That's been awhile." Bobby sounded like he was frowning on the other end of the line.

"So you've heard of him?" Sam asked, surprised. "Is he a hunter?"

"Hardly a hunter. Not like you mean anyways. I only know about him because I had to talk some people out of killing him a while back."

"By 'people', I assume you mean hunters like us. Why would they want him dead?"

Bobby lets Sam's "us" comment slide, though he filed it away for future discussion. "They thought he had some supernatural ability, and you know how hunters feel about anything with supernatural abilities."

The warning in his voice was unmistakable, and Sam found himself nodding even though Bobby couldn't see him.

"Yeah. What did they think he could do --did they have any proof?"

"Don't know. Something that helped him solve cases. There was some muttering about him being tied up with demons, but again, no evidence. Just rumors and some suspicious timing. Took some doing from both me and a few other older hunters to talk them down."

"I'm surprised you got involved at all. Hunters are pretty autonomous, and from what I remember enough coincidences and credible talk about demons is all a lot of them would need."

"Well, Frank was tied up in some other things, things that are just as well left alone without real good cause to stir them up."

"The Millennium Group?"

"What do you know about the Group?" Bobby voice was suddenly sharp.

"Nothing, I just saw them mentioned on a website with Frank's name."

"You stay clear of the Group, Sam. Anyone from Millennium ever contacts you, I want your word you will run the other way."

"What's the problem, Bobby?"

"Your word, boy. I've done what I can to help you and your family out when I could, but I want your promise on this matter, or this is the last help you get." Sam was startled by how serious Bobby sounded.

"Of course, Bobby. I trust you; if you say Millennium is bad news, I won't have anything to do with them."

Bobby blew out a gust of air on the other end of the line, as if he had been holding his breath. "Good."

"Anything else you maybe want to tell me about them?"

"No. But I suppose I had better or you're going to go looking into them anyways. They claim to be a consulting firm for law enforcement, and from what I can tell they seem to do a pretty good job at it. But under the level, they also seem to be involved in a lot of more shady affairs. Prophecies and mystical crap. A lot of end-of-the-world stuff. They aren't doing anything about it, as best anyone can tell, but you don't get people in the kind of circles Millennium moves in, paying attention to those kind of things, that aren't just bad news."

"Why would they be interested in me?"

"There are rumors that the Group collects human psychics. Just being Group affiliated is enough to get your name on hunters' hit lists in several parts of the world. Parts where the hunting population has been all but decimated through one freak incident or another. No one can prove it's the Group, but it's pretty suspicious. We have a kind of unspoken agreement in this country. They don't bother us, we don't bother them, and all parties go home sullen but alive."

"How big is this group?"

"Big enough to be bad news. Stay away from them, Sam. And stay away from anyone associated with them."

"Like Frank Black."

"Exactly."

"Dean went to see him, Bobby. I have to find out what Black told him."

"Dammit, Sam."

"Jess will be with me, Bobby. If he looks like he's doing anything weird or threatening, like reaching for his phone or staring at my aura, she can brain him with her purse while we make our escape."

"This isn't funny, boy. You have no idea how much trouble you can get into with these people."

"You obviously haven't tried to pick up her purse if you think I was joking. Could Millennium have had something to do with Jordan Black's disappearance?"

"I think they could have something to do with anything they please. But off the top of my head I can't imagine what use they would have for a twenty-something art student."

"She's not religious, but she's obsessed with angels. She draws them just like a grandmother did who died before she was born. They are ...intense; it's hard to stay in the same room with them looking down at you," Sam told him. "Does that sound like anything you've heard of?" Bobby was silent on his end for a minute.

"No, but watch yourself, Sam. I'm not going to tell you what to do here beside the promise you gave me, but you need to be very careful. It may be that Dean has gotten involved in something you won't be able to save him from."

"I won't believe that."

"Keep me updated. And keep your mouth shut about your own ...talents, if you talk to Frank Black."

"I will, Bobby. Thanks."

  
** Chapter Fourteen **

  
It is prophesied that when the end comes, it will  
come in darkness: a catastrophe all foresaw but few  
believed. Most of us will battle too late against the  
chaos, but not the few, the radical few, who obey  
no discipline. Unencumbered by conscience, they  
prepare ruthlessly pursuing their own preservation.  
If they survive, the rest of us perish.  
                                    ~Frank Black, Millennium

The house was a neat brown wood-planked single-story, set back off the main road. Tangles of bushes obscured it from the street, but once you passed them, the house itself was well maintained. No lawn, but the tree canopy overhead inhibited any real overgrowth from groundcover.

Sam and Jess parked out on the main road and walked up the long driveway to the front door.

The door was painted a deep green. There was no doorbell or knocker. Sam had relayed to Jess Bobby's half of the conversation the previous night; she had been concerned, but willing to follow his lead. She gave him an encouraging nod now, as he hesitated, then knocked firmly on the door.

They waited a few minutes, but as Sam lifted his hand to knock again, there was the scraping sound of a deadbolt turning, and the door opened, revealing the man they had seen in the photo in Jordan's room. He looked older, and more tired, and the creases in his face were even deeper with the passage of years. But his eyes were sharp and focused, giving Sam a feeling almost like the host of angels in his daughter's room.

If this was Jordan's father, Sam understood Michelle's insistence on the word "intense."

"Mr. Black?"

"I'm Frank Black. Who are you?"

Originally Sam and Jess had agreed to use false last names, mindful of Bobby's warnings; but now, under the weight of the man's stare, Sam changed his mind. He didn't think deception was going to get them very far with Frank Black. Better to just exclude them and hope the man didn't ask.

"I'm Sam, this is Jessica. We're looking into the disappearance of your daughter, Jordan, and were hoping you would have a few minutes of time for us to ask a few questions."

Frank suddenly looked older.

"No, I'm sorry."

"We just want to get a little more information about Jordan from you; we spoke with her roommate Michelle, and she gave us your address," Jessica pressed.

He shook his head and stepped back from the entry way as if preparing to close them out.

"She shouldn't have done that. The police and FBI have already done their investigations, and I'm not interested in answering questions from private parties."

Sam stepped up and slid his boot forward so the door couldn't close.

"Please Mr. Black. My brother is missing, I have reason to believe there is a connection between his disappearance and that of your daughter.

"I doubt that very much. Now, please excuse me." Sam stepped back helplessly.

Before the door could shut completely, Sam gave Jess a look both desperate and determined, and then threw in hastily, "I had a vision."

The door paused, then opened slightly so Frank could see them again. "Pardon?"

"A vision. I have visions. I had one about my brother; your daughter was involved." Sam took a deep breath. "He's going to die, Mr. Black. Please. Just a few questions."

The man in the doorway sighed, then opened the door wide and stepped aside, one hand extended towards the interior ushering them in.

 

~~~~~~~

The inside of the house was clean, but dark; the furniture, simple and tasteful. A few framed pictures or painting on the walls broke up the neutral paint, and one room they passed seemed to be an extensive library. Frank led them to the kitchen.

"Please, sit."

Frank himself sat on the other side of the table. He let them get settled, then spread his hands, looking impatient.

"You want to tell me what's going on now?"

Sam and Jess exchanged looks again, before Sam asked, "What do you want to know?"

"You said you hady visions, of your brother and my daughter. Why don't you start there."

"I'm not really used to just talking about it," Sam hesitated, Bobby's warnings ringing in his head.

"You've made the effort to come see me, Sam. Whatever you say, it's not going to go any further than this kitchen. Please."

"Promise?" Jess demanded.

Sam put one of his hands over hers and made a calming motion. "It's okay, Jess."

He looked back at Frank. "Last December I saw my brother in a graveyard. It was a ...fetch. Not a real ghost, but a death omen. I don't know how much you know about things like this but--"

"It was Christmas Eve. You were at church."

"...Yes. It was, I was."

"Continue."

"Right. Um, so I went to see him and he ...blew me off. I went back home, and then I had a vision, this time it was of my brother dying. I tried to contact him again, but I ...couldn't reach him."

If Frank heard how much was being left out in the pauses he said nothing about it.

"Your seeing the fetch in the churchyard was an episode that has some mythological significance to it. The location, the timing. Where was the vision?"

"The shower," Jess cut in with disgust, still upset almost a year later. "I thought he was dead when I found him."

Sam gave Frank a rueful look. "When I have visions, sometimes they can be a little disorienting."

"You have visions often?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Yes."

Frank looked between them and raised a brow. "Which is it?"

"I've had them on and off my entire life. Sometime I go years without one. Sometimes I have one every few weeks. It's not that often."

Jess gave him a look. "Speaking as someone who's never had one, I find the two you've had in my company to be plenty often."

"You should try them from my perspective," Sam retorted.

"Thanks, but it's disturbing enough from the outside."

Frank took control of the conversation again, looking at Jess. "So you have no trouble with this, believing in his ...gift."

"No --apparently you don't either."

"I have to assume that you know something about me that made him think telling me he had visions would get my attention." Frank returned to the previous subject. "What did you see in your vision about your brother?"

"Not much. It was mostly dark; maybe some orange flickering light. But not like fire, more like the source kept getting interrupted. I could hear yelling, and great booming sounds. I saw Dean. He was somewhere below me, wet. It smelled like dirt, and minerals, and I was cold. I was absolutely certain he was about to die."

"Dean is your brother?"

"Yes."

"So not just a visual image then: you said you could smell things, that you felt them. You had impressions that were more than what you could see."

Sam nodded. "It was like being there."

"Are all of your visions that detailed?"

"Usually."

"What sort of things do you usually see?"

"Bad things." Sam's voice clearly said he didn't want to discuss it.

Frank smiled without humor, like Sam's answer was part of a private joke. His next question took Sam and Jess by surprise. "Do you ever see angels?"

Sam blinked, flashing back to Jordan's room for a moment. "No. Um, how would that be a bad thing?" Then remembering how those angels had felt looking down on him, he thought maybe he didn't want to know.

"You would be surprised." Frank's tone closed the subject. He stood up from the table. "My apologies, I'm being a terrible host. Can I get you something to eat or drink? I don't keep much on hand, but I'm sure I can find something."

"Oh, you don't have to do that." Jess assured him.

"I'm getting something for myself, it's no trouble."

"Water please then. Sam?"

"Water would be good."

He came back with ice waters for everyone and took his seat again.

"She said you had two visions, I'm assuming it's the second one that involved my daughter."

Sam nodded. "Yes. I saw her, and Dean. Not together, but like fractured images. There was danger, and snow. They were looking for something. Or, maybe Dean was looking for her. I'm not sure. It felt ...urgent."

"How did you know who she was? Did you hear her name?"

"No," Sam shook his head.

Jess spoke up. "He had this vision back in June. We didn't know who she was until we saw her missing persons flyer in a post office a few days ago."

"Mr. Black," Sam leaned forward earnestly, "my brother is the only family I have left. We might not get along very well, but I don't want him to die. If you know anything about where Jordan is, please, tell us."

"Jordan is a very special girl. She follows an inner path. A path that only has room for one."

"Then you don't believe she was abducted?" Sam asked.

"I don't know why she left school, or where she has gone. But wherever she is, it's where she wants to be. That much I'm sure of. What I don't understand is how your brother would have gotten involved."

"Dean is ...like a private investigator. But instead of being hired, he looks into cases on his own that look like they could use his specialty. There were some unusual circumstances around Jordan's disappearance. We think he might have come here at some point, following clues."

Frank frowned. "What does he look like?"

"Ah, he's a little shorter than me, with green eyes and short--"

"He was here about a month ago. He claimed he was one of Jordan's school friends."

"What did you tell him?"

"Much what I tried to tell you when you knocked on my door. Besides, I knew he was lying."

"Dean's usually pretty good at passing as what he wants."

"Dean didn't spend an entire career scrutinizing psychopaths for the FBI. Serial killers were my specialty, and they are some of the best actors on the planet."

Sam conceded the point. "So you have no idea where he might have been headed?"

"No, I'm sorry."

Jess had been watching Frank very closely during the conversation. "She has visions too, doesn't she."

"Pardon?"

"Your daughter. You asked about angels, and we saw her room. That's what she sees."

Frank looked down as if considering his words. "She has a powerful gift."

"Like her grandmother."

"...Yes. Like my mother."

"Like you?"

"No. I don't see angels."

"But you see something."

He didn't answer her, Jess nodded anyways like something was confirmed.

"Why does that make you unhappy? What's wrong with seeing angels?" she asked.

Frank steepled his fingers together and studied them while he answered her. "I don't understand what it is my daughter and others like her experience, but I have known three people now who seemed gifted in a like fashion. Of the three, two of them are dead, and at least one of them --maybe both of them-- destroyed themselves." He expression was pained, but he went on, "I tried to be supportive of her. These gifts, these curses --they aren't things that can be ignored." Frank looked up at Sam, who nodded. "But it wasn't enough, I couldn't get over watching her be drawn further and further into her gift, knowing what the result would have to be. In the end, it drove her away."

Silence hung in the room for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry," Jess said finally.

"Don't be sorry for me; you have your own tests to pass," he looked meaningfully to where her and Sam's hands overlapped on the table.

"My wife and I, we loved each other very much. But in the end, our family couldn't withstand the shadow of my abilities. She tried to understand, but things happened and she had to make choices. Even with my knowledge... Jordan was the entirety of my world, but the strength of that bond broke beneath the weight of our gifts. I don't envy you this trial, having already suffered it --and failed it-- myself."

"Is there anything else you can tell us, Mr. Black?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you have any more questions, Jess?"

"No, I think that's everything I had."

Sam nodded. "Okay then, thank you for your time."

They all stood up and started heading back towards the door.

"Tell me if you find Jordan, please."

Jess slipped outside.

Before Sam could follow her, Frank added, "Someone told me something once, and it seems like the sort of advice you might want to consider. They said that all you can do is love your family as best that you can, and be prepared for the possibility that it might not be enough."

Sam glanced out at Jessica, waiting patiently on the stone steps, and thought of Dean; the air of desperation underlying his actions in the motel room that day. Desperation Sam had downplayed at the time, but that seemed more and more telling the longer he had to think about it. Something had been seriously wrong with his brother, and Sam was determined to find out what. He set his jaw and looked at Frank Black.

  
Frank saw the resolve in his face. "Good luck, Sam."

 

 

  


  
** Chapter Fifteen **

"And now there is merely silence, silence, silence, saying all we did not know."  
                                    -William Rose Benet

"Sam, it's the end of November. We've been driving back and forth around Tennessee and neighboring states for two months now, trying to pick up his trail. Maybe we should spread out some more?"

"No, everything has happened here. Right in this state. The girl, Dean --there was snow, Jess! It's going to be here, they are going to be here. I know Dean is still alive, and if we can find him, I can keep him that way."

"It's a big state, Sam."

"It's not snowing yet. There's still time."

 

~~~~~~~

"So, what if Dean was telling you the truth?"

"The truth about what?"

Sam and Jess were both exhausted. They were making a last-minute run for Bobby, some rare herbs to a hunter in northern Alabama for the proper disposal of gnomes, not the ambiguous ones from fairytales, but the kind that liked to drag children into burrows and eat them alive. The herbs had to be handled very precisely and couldn't be mailed with the potency preserved.

Sam had groused about driving to South Dakota, but he was tired of Tennessee too. The time constraints for the delivery would put them back in the state just as quickly as the car could bring them, so he had caved in just for the change of scenery. He hadn't wanted to leave the area where he felt strongly his brother would be found, but after eight or so weeks of nothing, he had agreed that maybe a brief trip elsewhere would provide some fresh inspiration. No such luck.

They had been in the car for almost thirty hours of non-stop driving, taking shifts, and it had come down to the point where they were both awake just to make sure the driver was.

Jess had been taking the opportunity to try to hash out some lingering questions she had about Sam's encounter with his brother the previous December.

"So -- about why your family cut you off…"

"Dean never told me why, Jess. He just treated me like a five year old and kicked me out."

"I thought you stormed out."

"Because he wouldn't talk to me. I wasn't getting anywhere, and you have no idea how stubborn Dean can be. He didn't want to tell me, and I wasn't going to spend a month following him around begging."

"He told you he loved you, that that was why they cut you off, why he didn't call when your dad died?"

Sam snorted in amusement.

"Maybe he was serious, Sam." She smacked him in the arm. "Don't laugh at me."

"He loved me? He was my big brother, of course he loved me. I loved him too. I loved my dad, and even though we fought non-stop from the time I was about thirteen until the day I walked out, I knew he loved me too. I don't know why they turned their backs on me."

"Loved? Past tense?" she asked, pointedly.

Sam was quiet.

"You said he kissed you."

"He was trying to drive me off."

"He said that your dad had been trying to separate you guys, then he said it was because he loved you, and then he kissed you. On the mouth, Sam."

"It was a desperate attempt to make me leave, Jess."

"Bobby knows."

"Knows what?"

"What the big secret is. He as much as told me so, he also told me it wasn't any of my business and he wasn't going to get involved."

"...Bobby admitted there was a secret?"

"He was really uncomfortable with whatever it was, said he wasn't going to discuss it with you and if you wanted to know you were going to have to pin Dean down and ask."

"I did that," Sam growled.

"He suggested smaller words and a weapon of some sort. If you were sure you wanted to know."

"Why wouldn't I want to know?!" Sam asked, baffled.

Jess gave him a level look. "You might not want to, if Dean was telling the truth."

"The truth about..."

Jess waited for him to put it together.

"That's sick!"

She rolled her eyes. "And exactly the sort of problem that might make strong men squirm in their seats, refuse to discuss it, and be grateful when one boy takes off for a University on the far side of the country while the other stays safely under foot. The sort of problem that might make a man forbid one son from so much as speaking to the other, and do everything in his power to make sure that even after he died, they wouldn't have any contact. That might make an older brother whose entire purpose in life was to see to the needs of the younger, completely turn his back and walk away. That sort of sick, Sam?"

"There has to be another reason."

Jess leaned her seat partially back and laced her fingers over her stomach. "Share your wisdom with the class," she invited.

"Do you have any idea how many girls my brother picks up in a year? There is no way that Dean's interest went from 'anything with breasts,' to his overgrown, skinny, male, sibling. I would have noticed!"

"Noticed what? The sudden groping in the shower? His singing sweet sad songs under your balcony? No?" She eyed him with mock surprise when he scowled. "Maybe the bashful batting of his lashes and the heart-shaped doilies he left in your duffle bag, then?"

"There would have been something, Jess. I mean, that's not a little thing!"

"From what you have told me about that last year with your family, you were busy being sneaky and plotting the great escape while fighting tooth and nail with your father, and Dean was busy keeping you and your father from killing each other while simultaneously stopping child services from taking too great an interest in your home-life and stalking the supernatural with your dad." She was ticking things off on her fingers. "Meanwhile, you were on the road switching school districts every other month and learning the hunting trade yourself! Did you really have a lot of time for deep soul searching conversations? Even have enough of a routine to notice if something was wrong?"

"You don't understand how Dean and I worked." Sam said, but he sounded uncertain.

Jess let the uncomfortable silence sit for awhile, before asking, "What did you do when he told you?"

"Told me?"

"That he loved you. When he kissed you in the hotel room," she added impatiently.

"I already told you about that, I shoved him off, accused him of using juvenile tactics, and told him if whatever he was hiding was that great a secret, I didn't want to know anymore anyways."

"Wow. So he tells you the truth, gets to kiss you, and you still storm off and out of his reach. It's like having your cake and eating it too."

"We haven't established that that's the truth yet. I mean, we don't know anything."

A few more minutes of silence, and then he asked somewhat hesitantly, "Don't you think it's wrong?"

Jess shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "It isn't anything I've ever considered for myself, and it's not healthy for a population over time, but as a basic morality issue -- between consenting adult siblings? There have been a lot of cultures throughout history that have incorporated it as an important practice at the pinnacles of their societies. I'm not saying it's right, of course, but I'm not saying I necessarily condemn it out of hand, either."

"Do you think it's wrong?" she asked gently. "Did you ever think about it, Sam?"

Sam rubbed at the patchy place on the steering wheel while he answered. "I had a rough adolescence. It was just me and Dean most of the time. It's hard enough to be a normal teenager, but the way we did it..." He sighed. "I was awkward, all bones and graceless, and always unpopular. If I could get a girl to give me the homework assignment I thought I was doing good. Dean was ...always the hero of the story. Girls loved him, he was better than me at all the hunting stuff, Dad and his buddies treated him like one of them most of the time. Dean didn't worry about the crap that bothered me, he didn't have the weird problems I did that had to be kept secret. But I was still the person he always looked out for first. That felt -- powerful. I might have entertained the occasional un-brotherly thought during some of the more difficult periods. But nothing serious. Just ...growing pains. It certainly isn't something we ever discussed." Sam deliberately shoved out of his mind the nagging memories of old dreams and longings.

Jess nodded. Sam looked over to gauge her expression. "You know, you don't seem particularly upset by any of this."

"Should I be? I've seen pictures of your brother, he's quite the hottie. I kinda feel like I missed out by not being in the motel room when you ran him down the first time."

"Jess! He's my brother."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "You're adorable, he's gorgeous, what's not like about watching a little make-out session?"

"We didn't make out! It was a kiss, one kiss, and why would you want to watch a couple of guys anyways?!"

"You're using that squeaky voice again," she pointed out helpfully. "And why wouldn't I want to watch a couple of hot guys get some action? You like to watch lesbians."

"I do not!"

She rolled her eyes again. "It's like you think I've never seen your browsing history at all."

Sam shifted uncomfortably.

She noticed and raised an eyebrow. "You feel bad about watching porn? You never seem to mind when we watch it together."

"It's different when you're with me," he mumbled.

"I can feel you blushing all the way over here." She grinned in the dark car. "You don't have to be embarrassed about watching porn, lesbians or not. You're engaged, not dead, Sam. You think I don't ogle hot guys and enjoy observing a nice strip-off on the beach?" She wriggled her feet up onto the dash. "I mean, I enjoy it more when it's you, and I certainly wouldn't do anything about it, but I can still look. You shouldn't feel bad about that."

"Oh, I think I might have crossed straight out of 'bad' and into 'threatened,'" he said dryly.

She moved one of her hands to slide her fingers teasingly up the inside of his thigh. He jumped, causing the car to swerve.

"Jess!"

She laughed. "Let's get this package delivered, and find a motel. I think I have just enough energy left to drive any thought of 'threatened' right out of your head."

They agreed with mutual silence to leave the question of Dean's motivation in the long shadows of the evening. At least until there was some chance of an answer.

  
** Chapter Sixteen **

 

Faith is the substance of things hoped  
for,the evidence of things not seen.  
                                    -St. Paul, Hebrews 11:1

"Get up!"

Jessica stirred sleepily and blinked, trying to focus in the yellow light of the cheap motel.

"Sam? What time is it?" she asked blearily, trying to see the alarm clock.

"Ah ...a few hours since we crashed."

"A few hours?" she spoke more clearly, grabbing the clock so she could see the face. "What the hell?!"

It was the second week of December. They had settled just outside Pigeon Forge for a few days because someone had told Bobby a friend of a friend might have mentioned running into a hunter named Dean, and since this person lived in some unmarked cabin in the mountains above the city, Jess and Sam had spent some time winter hiking the extensive trails in the area. Finally finding the guy and learning that it wasn't Dean but a Dan, and that Dan was about fifty and had a wife, three kids, and a suburban -- well, it had been a disappointing and exhausting period of time. When they finally made it back to their motel after their latest failure to locate Sam's missing brother, Jessica had been asleep within moments of hitting the pillow -- a mere three hours ago.

"We have to go, Bobby called. He might have gotten a lead on Dean."

 

~~~~~~~

Sam drummed his nails restlessly on the passenger side door. Jess grit her teeth and counted slowly down from one hundred. Again.

He was keyed up and stressed out, and neither one of them had gotten enough sleep to be human, but snapping at him was just going to touch off a fight.

She had already asked him to stop several times, and he did, but each time it started back up within five minutes. She knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, she knew he wasn't trying to irritate her, she knew--

"If you put one more finger down, I swear to God, Sam, I will put this car in a ditch and beat you to death with my shoe!"

He looked startled by her outburst, but tucked his hands into his armpits without comment, convinced of her seriousness either by the tone of her voice, or her white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

Jess practiced some meditative breathing for a few minutes, and felt the tension in her muscles start to ease up.

"Thanks."

"Sorry. It wasn't on purpose."

"I know. I just think this trip will go better if you leave your hands where they are."

"You sure you don't want me to drive?"

"I've got it."

He nodded and went back to staring out the window.

"Tell me exactly what Bobby said again?"

"Just that some hunter who had met Dean when he was running around with Dad saw him in a bar outside Mount Juliet a few nights ago, and they chatted for a bit. The guy swears that Dean was alone, and that he said he was heading to Townsend."

"Did he say what for?"

"Hunters aren't exactly known for truth and honesty, even with each other. You tend to stop asking when you know you're only going to get lied to anyways. The guy did say he thought Dean was planning on doing some camping, but Bobby didn't have any details on that."

"Great. How are we going to find Dean in Townsend?"

"It's not that big of a place -- probably just drive around until we find the Impala."

"You're the boss," Jess shrugged.

 

~~~~~~~

"It's not that big of a place." Sam snarled in frustration, slamming his hands on the steering wheel where they were parked downtown at a diner.

"Evidently it is," Jess growled back, just as annoyed and exhausted after more than seven hours of cruising Townsend and every motel or campsite in a huge radius around it, more than once.

"Is there another Townsend on the map?" Sam flipped it open and started skimming names and locations.

"Maybe he isn't here yet, maybe he's already gone." She blew a lock of hair out of her face and slumped down. "Maybe he lied to the guy like you said, or he misheard him, or Dean changed his mind, or a thousand other maybes! Whatever the case, the Impala isn't here. Are you sure he's still driving it?"

Sam snorted his opinion of that, still focused on the map. "Dean will be buried in that car."

"Well, let's think about this logically."

"Logically?"

"As logically as anything else on this road trip has been. It's the middle of winter, there are at least three inches of snow on the ground, and from what you have said the Impala's trunk is generally pretty full with, how shall we say, specialty items."

Sam nodded.

"So, if Dean is planning on some seasonal camping, he's probably going to need some gear, right?"

"He's got camping gear; all he really needs is some space blankets to line his sleeping bag with, and he should be fine."

"You aren't working with me here, Sam."

"Fine, Jess. So … what, then?"

She smirked and climbed out of the car, slid her jacket off and dropped it on the seat, then tugged the zipper on her thermal shirt down so that the top of her sports bra was clearly visible. "Let me have that picture of Dean, the one we were showing around."

Sam wordlessly tugged the cropped image out of his wallet and handed it to her.

"What are you going to do?"

"I explained the miracle of hips to you once, this is the magic of breasts," she said dryly. "Wait here."

Jess closed the door and sauntered into a hiking store across the street.

Sam waited impatiently, and was about to go in himself when she came back out about ten minutes later. He noticed the zipper on her shirt was distinctively lower, but she was grinning as she reached the car.

She opened the door and dragged her coat back on, shirt safely re-zipped to her chin. "It's freezing out here!"

"What clued you in, the snow on the ground or the icy wind on your cleavage?" he asked dryly.

"Be nice to me, or I'll let you drive around in circles for a few more hours before I tell you where to find him."

"They knew?"

"He stopped by to pick up some socks or something, and asked them about local motels and some of the local hiking spots. They--" she squirmed around to tug a folded glossy brochure from her back pocket, "--marked some places for me."

Sam grabbed her by the jacket and dragged her in close enough to kiss.

  
** Chapter Seventeen **

 

Without mysteries, life would be very dull indeed.  
What would be left to strive for if everything were known?  
                                    -Charles de Lint

"Really?" Jessica asked, dubiously.

Sam had to admit she had a point: the Welcome Inn was a sad sight. Even for cheap digs, the place was a wreck. The sagging veranda had been propped up with logs interspaced with the original pillars, and several of the doors showed signs of having been kicked in at one point or another. Sam doubted any attention had been paid to washing the sheets in the rooms, much less to upkeep on the heaters.

The Impala was parked at the rear of the u-shaped two-story building, between the back wall and the forest that stretched out behind it. Made it easier for vandals to take their time with it, but less likely they would see it in the first place, since it was completely hidden from the road.

Sam peered through the car's frosty windows while Jessica circled around it appraisingly.

"This is a beautiful car. I can't imagine how much work must go into keeping her in this condition."

"No," Sam said, pained -- remembering hours and hours spent in junkyards and driveways. "You really can't."

"Bad memories?"

"From the perspective of boredom."

"Ah."

Sam stood back up. "I don't see anything unusual inside, normal clutter. Nothing useful. I would have to break-in to really take a look, and we should probably see if he's here, or find his room, before I consider doing that."

"Is it hard to break into the car?"

"Let's just say I was hard on it last time I met up with Dean, and he's unlikely to be forgiving of the littlest scratch during this visit."

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

They left the Impala and went to walk by the rooms. "Dean would only stay on the ground floor," Sam told Jess when she offered to check the upper floor.

She was grateful; she had only offered because the idea of her overgrown fiancé walking on that second-story walkway had filled her head with images of him crashing through it to the concrete below. She hadn't been really excited about trying it herself, but at least she weighed less.

Sam was walking very slowly and seemed intent on the cement walkway in front of each door, scuffing his foot on the narrow band of dry clear concrete between the doors and the snow, where the direction of the wind and the shielding of the building had prevented the snow from blowing right up against the building.

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't really want to draw attention to us, or to Dean, in this place, so we need to figure out which room is his in a different way than bothering the desk people."

"And that is?"

He smiled, still focused intently on the ground. "Salt. You put a line in front of the door on the carpet and go in and out once or twice, and you're going to be leaving a scattering of it outside on the walkway."

"You want me to go start at the other end?"

"No need," he announced, stopping in front of a door with a 'do not disturb' sign hanging on the handle. He scuffed his foot a little harder and Jess could hear the tiny grains grinding under it.

He knocked, waited a few moments, then knocked again. No answer.

"Watch my back," he muttered to Jess. She turned towards the parking lot and kept an eye out for anyone interested, while Sam knelt by the lock and teased it open. It was completely deserted in the parking lot, and a moment later Sam opened the door and ushered her inside.

The still atmosphere, while cold, was a relief from the relentless swirl of freezing air outside.

Jess looked around with interest.

The dingy room was, if anything, even more decrepit than the outside of the motel suggested. Water stains and peeling wallpaper; one leg of the TV stand was actually duck-taped in place, and the TV itself was missing. The bed was propped up on a cinderblock and the fuzzy blanket rumpled at the foot of the bed was obviously stained. To its credit, the room at least was clean, and the air carried the faint odor of industrial cleaning product.

One wall had several maps pinned to the ugly wallpaper, and a couple of articles that seemed to be about Jordan Black's disappearance, along with others on miracles and religious shrines. The maps were mostly regional, but one was of the entire country and another was just the Eastern half; the latter had several pins in various other states, but most were in Tennessee.

Sam had had taken a duffle bag from the dresser and dumped it out on the bed so he could sort through its contents.

"Find anything?" she asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Sam muttered, trying not to catalogue how many of the worn-out clothes were bloodstained and neatly patched where they had been ripped. He had taken his share of damage during the years he was hunting with his family, and done his fair turn at patching up the others when they took theirs, but he was sure no one's wardrobe had ever been in this kind of state. His desire to get his hands on Dean immediately was spiking.

Jess was going through drawers. "What's this?" She lifted a worn leather journal out from the bedside table, and as she did something fluttered from the pages to the bed.

"That's my father's hunting journal," Sam frowned, reaching for the loose paper. "If nothing else, it means Dean definitely planned to return here."

Sam spread the paper open and froze. It was an angel, like the ones that covered every inch of the walls in Jordan Black's bedroom. This one was drawn in marker on a piece of printer paper.

"So he found her, then." Jess commented, looking over his shoulder.

Sam nodded. "Or at least followed her closely enough to pick up behind her. But nothing here explains why he would be staying here, where he is now -- and where is Jordan Black?"

"I think maybe that answer is on the wall."

Sam laid the paper and the journal down on the blanket and walked over to scrutinize the maps and articles.

"It's all about a shrine," he finally commented.

Jess nodded in agreement. "That's what I thought. All of the pins circle this area, and the local maps ...it should be straight back in the forest from this motel, maybe a day or so's hike from here."

"Is that one of the places the guys in the hiking store mentioned to you?"

"Yeah, but they only had a general idea of where. They said it was a big holy site even back when this was Native American land. Then some settlers thought they had religious experiences there, and it became a pilgrimage point. But never formally, just rumors. They didn't know anyone who had actually been there -- just friends of friends who claimed to have seen it."

"These articles are also pretty vague."

"You think Dean went out to find it?"

"It's looking that way. None of the clothes you would take on a back-country camping trip are here."

"Is this the closest access point?"

"Yes. Keeping in mind all we have is a general area, there is a state park parking lot that looks like it is two or three miles closer to where the cave should be, but it's closed in winter."

"Cave?" Sam asked sharply. "None of these articles say anything about a cave. Just that it's a shrine."

Jess looked up, surprised. "They guys in the store kept calling it a cave."

Sam walked to the door. "Let's get our stuff inside and sorted out."

"What?" she blinked, still holding one of the articles from the wall.

"A cave, that's what the vision was. Dean was in a cave, and --I don't know-- but I think maybe the roof was falling in. All the noise, that would make sense. We have to go now Jess! He's already out there."

"Sam, this place is probably more than a day's walk from here! It's only a few hours to sunset now; we'll never get out there before it's dark. Why don't we wait and head out in the morning?"

Sam was shaking his head even while she was talking. "Now. We have to go now."

Jess opened her mouth again to protest, but closed it when she saw the fear on Sam's face. "Okay. Okay, we'll go now. Let's bring the stuff in and get packed up properly." She glanced out towards where the murky light filtered in through the cheap curtains, beyond which she knew snow was being blown across the frozen parking lot. "We don't want to get caught out in this unprepared."

  
** Chapter Eighteen **

 

If you are seeking creative ideas, go out walking.  
Angels whisper to a man when he goes for a walk.  
                                    ~Raymond Inmon

The snow wasn't deep, but it was pervasive. Blowing into every gap or fold of fabric to melt against skin. The dampening white made the forest a still and silent place; footing was treacherous and there was no path to follow. They were sighting on a particular rise in the distance, but with the up-and-down of the hills, they checked their compasses often to maintain a rough bearing.

Staying warm wasn't really an issue. Between the weight of the packs they carried, and the sheer effort of hiking up and down the rough terrain, they were toasty warm in their winter clothes. But the sun was sinking fast, and the snow was still drifting down. They hiked in silence broken only by labored breathing.

Jessica, with considerably shorter legs, was having to fight to keep up with the pace Sam set in his determination.

When the sun, seen only intermittently in the overcast sky, was burning on the horizon, Jess called a halt long enough to dig out her headlamp. She wanted to suggest setting camp, but the set of Sam's jaw told her it would be futile.

She squared her shoulders and nodded she was good to go.

 

~~~~~~~

The moon was supposed to rise later, but it was a dark, quiet night when she had finally had enough. They had been struggling for hours through a forest lit only by their headlamps, steered by frequent compass checks. The snow had lightened up, and the clouds thinned significantly from the conditions when they originally set out; but the temperature had plummeted, and she was exhausted.

It was hard to say if it was the exhaustion, the conditions, or both that caused the fall. But one moment she was gamely struggling along in Sam's wake, and the next she was lying stunned in a heap twenty feet down a rough incline.

"Jess!"

She lay blinking in the snow, trying to figure out what had happened.

Rough hands grabbed her and pulled her into a sitting position, she cried out and pulled free.

"Shit. Shit! I shouldn't have moved you. Jess, I'm sorry --where are you hurt?!" The hands were pawing at her again.

She shrugged him off and sat up on her own. There was something warm on her lips, and when she licked them she tasted copper. "I'm bleeding," she said blankly.

"Where are you hurt?" Sam repeated slower, acting like he wanted to grab her again, but backing off at her glare.

She unbuckled and shrugged out of the backpack, then touched her mouth, it was numb from cold, but nothing seemed to hurt.

"It's your forehead, and your jaw. Your headlamp is smashed, but it probably saved you a cracked skull." He sounded suddenly uncertain, "I hope it saved you a cracked skull. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Enough." She batted him away and stretched carefully, but nothing seemed painful in a noteworthy sense. Sam scrambled to his feet beside her and held his hand out to help her up. She pulled the broken headlamp off and stuffed it in her backpack, then took his hand and stood carefully.

"This is stupid, Sam. We have to camp."

He looked like he was about to argue with her, but she stared him down, her face bloody and her arms crossed. His shoulder slumped and he nodded. "We have to get out of this gully first."

"Lead the way, I can't see anything anymore."

 

~~~~~~~

Sam started hunting for a level patch of ground as soon as they made it back up to where they had been hiking. Jessica had half thought he would try to get a little more distance out of her before he agreed to pitch a tent, but maybe his guilt for trying to press a forced march in a winter forest at night was weighing on him; or maybe it was the death-grip her fingers had digging into his elbow where she had grabbed hold, relying on his headlamp to light the way for them both.

Pitching the tent was a relief after the grueling hours of hiking -- for Jessica at least, who wasn't being egged on by the bone-deep push to hurry. She knelt in the open vestibule and ripped into both of their packs, while Sam crouched outside with the camp stove and heated powdered soup mix and snow.

Jess zipped their sleeping bags together, parked herself on top, and kicked her boots off; she banged them together to get as much snow and dirt off as she could, then stuck them in a plastic grocery bag, and finally set them inside the tent. She changed her socks, crawled inside the sleeping bag, and laid her heavy jacket and the rest of her outer clothes over it for insulation.

Sam stuck his head in a few minutes later, and handed her two cups of hot soup to hold while he made his own preparations and crawled in.

They huddled together in the cold tent sipping warm soup and shivering. When they were done, Sam opened the first-aid kit he had brought into the tent from the packs in the vestibule and cleaned out the scrapes on Jess's face while she winced and tried to hold still.

" Just scrapes. How's your head?"

"Fine, cold, I'm not dizzy or anything."

"Look up."

"Your headlamp hurts my eyes."

"That's kind of the point, I want to see your pupils."

She made grumbly noises, but complied.

"Happy?"

"That you don't seem to be bleeding in your brain? Thrilled."

They looked at each other for a minute.

"Well," Sam mused, "we're alone, in a frozen forest, sharing a sleeping bag for warmth."

"Are you suggesting this is the point where we should have crazed survival sex?"

Sam tried to look innocent, but it came off as more of a leer.

Jess snorted and wriggled down until she was covered to the chin. "If you think I am taking off one more stitch of clothing you have more head trauma than I do."

"It actually is supposed to keep you warmer," he offered, flicking off the headlamp and sliding down beside her.

"Uh huh. I thought you were busy being all worried about Dean?

"I could use a distraction."

The silence was broken only by the slithering of snow over the thin shelter of the tent.

"Warmer, huh?"

"Absolutely."

  
Chapter Nineteen

 

"Mystery is another name for our ignorance;  
if we were omniscient, all would be perfectly plain"  
                                    -Tryon Edwards

Sam sat up suddenly in the night. Jess stirred beside him. The air in the tent was still cold, but beneath the weight of their winter outerwear and the heat of their entwined bodies, the sleeping bag was a comfortable haven.

"What is it?"

"I thought I heard something."

Jess struggled up beside him. "Outside?" she asked, still trying to wake up.

He nodded in the darkness, and struggled out of the sleeping bag, fumbling around for his headlamp and reaching for the zipper of the tent.

Jess cursed and grabbed for her heavy clothes, dragging them into the bag to wriggle into them before following him out.

Sam was standing in the snow right outside the tent in his unlaced boots.

She stuffed his jacket into his hands and looked up to see what had his attention, then froze.

"Do you see her?" Sam asked with a controlled calmness. The snow had picked up sometime between the time they had bedded down and the time Sam had started awake, its silent drift made visible by the moon now high in the sky, burning clearly despite the wispy clouds snowing down on them.

Standing maybe thirty feet away was Jordan Black.

"Yes."

"Good. I was afraid this was another vision."

"You aren't writhing on the ground."

"You never know," he retorted tightly. Since he seemed reluctant to take his eyes off the woman, Jess bent to tie his laces as well as her own. When she stood up, the woman was closer, not even ten feet away now.

"You have to come."

Jess and Sam eyed each other uncertainly.

"Um, are you Jordan Black?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Yes. But we have to go now." Snow dusted her windblown mop of curls, she looked like she was wearing jeans --insane in the weather-- but she had a winter coat on, and the tops of her boots were visible over the snow that buried her feet. She carried no light or gear that they could see. Jordan gave them a half smile. "Angels don't wait for slowpokes."

"Angels," Sam stepped towards her, "what about angels? Where's Dean?!"

Her smile dimmed somewhat. "We have to hurry."

"Hurry, where?!"

"The Shrine. Hurry." She turned and started walking back into the trees. In a matter of moments she would be completely invisible, even the sound of her footsteps muffled in the winter night.

Jess ducked and grabbed their belt-packs from the vestibule and thrust one into Sam's hand. She buckled hers on while hurrying after Jordan.

She had learned early on camping trips with her uncle that you didn't put all your survival gear in one bag, especially not in bad weather. You never knew when your pack was going to fall right off its frame and go crashing into a ravine, but he said you could always bet it would be right about the time your broke a leg and it started raining in about twenty degrees. It hadn't taken much to talk Sam around to that way of thinking, even though his own training had focused more on what guns you should bring to the party and how to construct effective camouflage. So even though their gear was spread out and unpacked for camp, they should be able to survive for a little while on what was in the belt-packs.

It would be miserable, but survivable.

Sam caught her in a second, and they both hurried to keep Jordan in sight.

Jordan, for her part, walked unhesitatingly into the treacherous darkness, still without any light but the moon to see by.

"Do you want to borrow my headlamp?" Sam offered to her.

Jordan shook her head and if anything, picked up the pace. Any further questioning just got back variations of a need to hurry. Sam let it drop; he was feeling the unrelenting press of urgency again, and Jess was too out of breath from struggling to keep up with them to bother.

 

~~~~~~~

For hours the blackness of the mountains had been looming closer, even set against the darkness of the night sky. Jess couldn't feel her feet ...or her cheeks, or her fingers. She figured lack of feeling in her feet was probably a blessing considering how bone-tired and exhausted the rest of her was, and she trusted the warm clothing and heat generated by exertion to be suitably protecting the rest of her extremities from actual damage. She trudged along behind Sam, distracting herself from misery by thinking about how if they didn't stop soon, she was going to have to sit down, for just a few minutes...

...and slammed into Sam's back.

He grabbed her arm to brace her. "I think we're there."

"Where?"

He pointed to where Jordan stood against the stone. In the hours of walking, they had made it to the cliff face marked on the map, without Jessica really seeing how close they had come. Faintly behind Jordan, Jessica realized she was seeing a very dim orange glow.

"This is it!" Jordan announced, sounding far too energized for the grueling trek they had just completed. That --Jessica realized with horror-- Jordan must have completed twice.

"I don't think she's human, Sam," Jessica panted. "Did you bring the salt?"

He gave her an exhausted smile, and squeezed her arm before letting go to follow Jordan where she had disappeared into the cavern entrance.

 

~~~~~~~

The roof and the walls were uneven inside the cave. Ahead of Jess, Sam had to duck as he followed Jordan into the narrow passageway. At least out of the blowing wind it felt warmer. There was clearly some source of light up ahead, but it wasn't enough to keep them from stumbling over the rough footing.

Rough, but not as rough as it should have been.

Jessica wondered uneasily how many thousands of people over how many hundreds of years had made this trek. It should have been comforting, but in the isolation and silence of the winter night it was just eerie.

A few hundred feet in, and the narrow shaft opened into a small chamber with branching tunnels. Jordan was waiting beside one that seemed to be the source of the light.

Her face was solemn, with reddened cheeks and nose from the harrowing hike in the freezing darkness.

"Your father is worried about you," Sam told her, taking the opportunity to stretch his back out after having to stumble through the corridor hunched over.

"My father understands," she replied calmly.

Jess looked up from where she had been retying a boot-lace. "I think you're right about him understanding. That's why he's worried."

San took a step towards her. "Where have you been? What happened to you?"

Jordan gave a quick shrug and an almost impish, if fleeting, smile. "I've had things to do."

Sam and Jess traded a look. After the silence and the rush to get here, Jordan seemed in no great hurry now, and almost chatty.

"Don't we have someplace to be?" Sam finally asked.

She nodded seriously. "Yes. But I have to give you something first."

She held her hands out, eyes locked on Sam's. They were icy blue in the glare of his headlamp, but had such depth ...he stepped out to take her hands without thought.

Jordan curled her fingers and crossed her hands over her chest with an artless smile. "No gloves."

"What?"

"There's almost no time left."

"Where's Dean!" he yelled. His voice echoed off the cavern walls and tunnels until it was just a sigh in the darkness.

"No gloves," Jordan repeated.

"Sam, I don't think she's going to budge on this," Jess muttered, looking off into one of the tunnels nervously. She felt like there were eyes on them, whispering just below where she could hear.

He growled and ripped them off, stuffing them in a pocket and holding his bare hands out.

Jordan stepped forward, wrapped her pale slender fingers around his, and Sam's world dissolved into a swirl of incomprehensible chaos.

 

~~~~~~~

When he was able to focus again, the first thing he was aware of was the chill of the cold uneven stone floor seeping into his legs. The next was Jessica wrapped around his torso supporting him, his face buried in her damp hair, her voice raised in anger at something --someone. Jordan. Sam struggled free of Jess's arms and tried to stand.

Jessica's yelling cut off abruptly, and she surged up to grab hold of him again before he face planted.

He leaned on her for a minute while his equilibrium reasserted itself, and when his vision cleared enough to look around, they were alone in the chamber.

"She went that way," Jessica said disgustedly, jerking her chin towards the tunnel with the dim light. "What happened?!"

"I'm not sure. When she touched me ...I saw something. A lot of somethings, really. I'm not sure what."

"That was a vision?!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," he still felt a little fuzzy, but it was clearing fast.

"But you're standing, and making sense. And not even bleeding this time."

"It was different. Like ...from outside, instead of in."

"She did this to you?"

"I'm not sure; it happened when she touched me."

"But you don't know what you saw?"

"No." Sam looked down the tunnel and straightened up. "But we have to go after her. We're out of time." He hadn't known he was going to say that last, but as soon as the words left his mouth he knew their truth with absolute certainly.

He plunged into the dimly lit tunnel, Jess following wordlessly at his heels.

  
** Chapter Twenty **

 

"Do you ever find yourself talking  
with the dead? Since Willie's death, I catch  
myself every day, involuntarily talking with  
him as if he were with me. "  
                                    -Abraham Lincoln (upon the death of his son)

The further down the rough tunnel they walked, the brighter the light got, until Sam switched his headlamp off to conserve battery power. The walls were also growing damp, water seeping from them causing the already difficult footing to be even more dangerous. Trickling sounds from somewhere up ahead grew louder the deeper in they moved.

On the plus side, the roof was growing taller and the walls farther apart. They finally broke into a wide chamber with a roof so high that not even the open-faced lantern burning in the corner could illuminate it. Deep crevices in the margins of the chamber also kept their secrets hidden from the light.

A cool breeze curled through the area from an unknowable source, causing the flame to dance. But it wasn't biting enough to be coming straight from the outside, flowing rather from some distant place even deeper into the darkness.

Jordan was standing by a drop-off, the lamp at her feet.

"Jesus, Sam," Jessica breathed, her eyes finally making sense of the walls. Thousands and thousands of carvings covered every surface of the chamber, stretching all the way up as far as she could see. The shapes didn't mean anything to her, but their deliberation was obvious. Water curled over and ran down them, almost like they were weeping.

"These have got to be ancient; why hasn't the water eroded them away?" Sam's voice was hushed. The chamber demanded reverence, almost overwhelming in its aura.

"They're prayers." Jordan's voice was clear, and echoed like a bell from the uneven outcroppings. She traced one slender fingers over a figure carved near her shoulder.

"People of many nations came here to speak to gods. For thousands of years it was a place of peace, and worship, and sanctuary. And sacrifice. Then the Christians came, and heard their own God, and made it their place alone. But they didn't understand its rules, and they brought violence, and hatred, and bigotry with them. They spilled blood, but none of their own. They lingered for a few decades, coming every so often; but the voices were muffled, and they didn't remember how to listen. It lost its meaning for them, and so was forgotten by most."

All the hair was standing up on the back of Jessica's neck by the time Jordan was done speaking. She remembered the feeling of being watched, of whispers barely unheard. She desperately wanted to leave. Before she could speak up, or Sam ask the question that was burning on his face, Jordan continued.

"I came to listen. I told him not to follow me, but he doesn't listen very well," she concluded solemnly, glancing down into the darkness of the drop-off by her feet.

"He doesn't--" was all Sam got out before the significance of her look hit him, and he threw himself down on the slippery ground beside the drop-off, fumbling his headlamp back on to see into the dark.

Maybe twenty feet down a steep incline, Dean was lying face down in a shallow pool of water.

 

~~~~~~~

The water was probably only an inch or two deep, and Dean was dressed in good synthetic seasonal gear, but he was unmoving. Sam was deeply grateful that he could make out the edge of his brother's profile, which didn't help much, but at least Dean probably hadn't drowned.

Wearing synthetic clothes and insulated somewhat from the biting cold of winter, if Jordan had come to find them as soon as he had fallen --Dean could still be alive. Sam refused to entertain any other possibility.

"Dean!" No reaction from the body below.

Sam was throwing one leg over to slide down when Jessica grabbed his shoulder with an iron grip. "Sam, no! How will you get back up?"

"I'll climb!"

"How?!" She shook him hard, terrified he would ignore her and go down anyways.

Sam looked around frantically, but she was right -- there were no handgrips or holds that would permit a climber to escape. With horror her noted that scattered around the margins of the pool were pieces of what looked like human skeletons. He cast a hard look at Jordan, who was watching them evenly.

"Sacrifice?"

"It's the only language gods speak."

"They're not my gods, and they can't have my brother!"

"Sam," Jessica was clawing at something on her wrist. "I can go down and see ...see if he's, um, okay." She thrust the dark and circular somethings into his hand. Sam recognized the weird bracelets she had purchased at the hiking store as part of her dragging information out of them. She had gotten one for each of them, but Sam had snorted at the idea of wearing one and not paid much attention to what she had been saying about them. He had a dim recollection of her wearing both of them in the motel earlier. "You can pull us up with that. It's forty or so feet of parachute cord."

Sam stared at the woven bracelets she had given him.

"They unravel! Like this." She grabbed one back and started tugging on ends tucked into the clasp.

They both looked up sharply at the sound of a body sliding down into the pool.

"What the--"

Jordan looked up at them from the bottom. "I weigh less, and it's going to take a lot of pulling to get him out of here. Better to have you both at the top."

"Uh, thanks. How is he?"

"Alive."

The soft murmur of her voice was indistinct where she leaned down over his prone form, but in a few minutes Dean was moving. Weakly, and obviously not in great shape, but moving -- he was alive. Everything else could be coped with. Jordan got him sitting, then looked back up expectantly.

"He's a little banged up, and I think his ankle is sprained, but the hypothermia is going to be the problem."

Sam didn't reply, Jessica was still pulling her bracelet weave out, and accumulating an impressive pile of dark loose cord from it, Sam was tugging at his too, but was distracted by something else.

He was looking down at Jordan where she stood in the pool. At Dean hunched over at her feet, barely able to sit up. Face shadowed in the harsh light of the headlamp. At the flickering light of the lantern; the water running ceaselessly down the walls; the heavy earthen scent of the cavern.

"Oh, my God," he said, a fervent prayer. "Hurry."

Jess looked up. "What?"

"Hurry!" He pulled the cord in his hand out frantically.

"Sam! What the hell?!"

"This is it. This is what I saw!" He shoved the completely unraveled ends into her hands.

"Wait --when we entered the cave? That vision?" Sam's panic was contagious. Jessica buckled the ends of the former bracelets to form a huge loop, twisted a quick series of knots into its length to create hand-holds for pulling, and tossed the rest into the pit.

"No, before! In Palo Alto!"

Sam had only had one vision before they had left home. Only one episode he referred to as a vision. Dean's death. The start of their trip. She remembered how he had described it, and eyed the cavern with sudden horror. "Oh, my God," she echoed Sam's prayer from moments earlier.

"Jordan, HURRY!" Jess yelled.

Jordan was already looping the cord under Dean's arms. He looked like he was trying to help, but his movements were awkward and clumsy.

"This ground is going to get us all killed," Sam said tightly, scuffing one boot on the slick surface to check for traction.

"No choice," Jess replied.

"He's ready!" Jordan called from below.

"Jordan, grab hold too!"

"You won't be able to pull us both up. The sooner you pull him up, the sooner you can get me."

Sam grit his teeth, but she was probably right and there was no time to argue.

He glanced at Jess to make sure she was ready, she caught his look and blew him a saucy kiss, even though her features were pale and pinched with fear.

"Let's do this."

 

~~~~~~~

The cord was thin and cut into their hands. They used the loops created by the knots Jess had tied to slowly drag Dean up. He was dead weight on the end of the line, and twice Jess's feet had skidded out from under her while they pulled. Sam was too afraid of going over the edge himself to get close until they had Dean on level ground, so he couldn't actually get his hands on his brother until they had him entirely on the cavern floor and the line was slack.

"Dean. Dean?!" He ran searching hands over his brother, but didn't find anything broken. Jess was kneeling beside them, untangling Dean from the parachute cord. Sam was trying to help when a freezing hand grabbed his; Deans eyes were fever bright in the headlamps glare, and it was impossible to tell if there was recognition in his eyes or not. He was trying to speak, but Sam couldn't hear him.

Dean's other hand grabbed at Sam's coat, Sam leaned in to hear him better.

"Jordan--" Dean rasped.

And then Sam heard the first rock fall.

  
** Chapter Twenty-One **

  
Anyone who has spent a few nights in a tent  
during a storm can tell you: The world doesn't  
care all that much if you live or die.  
                                    -Anthony Doerr

The first rock sounded like an explosion. The ones that followed like firecrackers, but then another huge boom, and another ...the cavern roof was collapsing.

"Jordan!" Jessica yelled, throwing the cord back down into the well for her.

Jordan reached for it, but a huge bolder dislodged from the roof and fell between her and the slope, forcing her back further into the darkness.

She splashed as she fell.

More rocks were crashing down. Sam heard Jessica cry out in pain, and pulled Dean to his feet. Dean wasn't doing much to support his own weight, but at least he wasn't completely limp anymore.

"Jordan!" Sam cried out desperately.

"Go!"

Before Sam could come up with anything, she spoke again, her voice hard to hear over the thundering echoes starting to reverberate into the chamber from all around.

"Go. It's okay."

"Sam!" Jessica was at the tunnel entrance, falling rock momentarily blocked his view of her and he felt his heart stop with the fear she'd been buried.

But he heard her coughing in the dust a split second later and glanced back down to Jordan, who was on her feet again, and actually gave him a half smile.

"Go. This was meant to happen. Tell your brother to learn how to listen! This is who we are!"

A rock struck the lantern, and its light flickered crazily as Sam dragged Dean towards the exit as fast as he could, one hand up to try and deflect small chunks away from their heads, the other arm tight around Dean's waist. His last back-glance showed him a brief glimpse of Jordan, face calm and eyes watching him, before tons of rock caved in and he felt Jessica take part of Dean's weight and pull them both away.

 

~~~~~~~

They staggered out into the freezing night air, choking on dust and eyes burning with grit. The roof of the cave had been collapsing in a seemingly progressive pattern. They had barely been able to stay ahead of the worst of it. Dean had started being able to carry a little more of his own weight, or they probably wouldn't have managed at all. Seconds after they cleared the cliff face, an extensive rumbling groan told them the passage back was sealed.

But now they were left in an almost equally bad predicament. Sam's headlamp had taken a glancing blow in the last few feet and was trying hard to die. Dean was soaked to the skin, and both Jess and Sam were liberally dampened as well from checking Dean for injuries and trying to untangle the cord.

The moon was still providing some illumination, but it was close to disappearing over the ridgeline, and the majority of their gear was hours away in the night. The snow was still sifting down through the trees. Even if they were in any shape to go after their gear, in a very short time it would be too dark to read a compass, and they would likely be without a light source of any kind by then.

Sam and Jess met each other's eyes, grief and shock between them. Jess had blood on her face again; Sam wasn't sure if it was from new injuries or re-opened old ones, and there was no time to check. Dean was barely conscious, and not even shivering, he was so cold. All they had was the contents of the belt-packs, and a limited amount of time left to rig a shelter.

There was still about twenty feet of clear space in the cavern entrance, and the cracks and booms of falling rock had stopped after the main tunnel came down, but neither of them were willing to risk it, and Dean wasn't in any shape to get a vote.

Sam unbuckled his pack and handed it to Jess, and then got Dean settled against the rock where the snow was thin, while she pulled out three Mylar safety blankets and two rolls of kite string. She tossed a granola bar at Sam and nodded her head in Dean's direction.

"Try and get some of that in him. Eat the rest yourself."

Sam peeled the package open while he watched her work. "Where did you get three blankets?"

"I packed two in mine, I ripped one once on a survival hike with my uncle and then needed it to hold water. Not a great trip. Call me paranoid."

In about ten minutes she had rigged up a shelter as best she could by kicking over snow covered leaves until she had a relatively ice clear patch against the rock wall, then spreading one of the Mylar sheets over the remaining dry leaves. She used the kite string and rocks to stretch a very low slanted roofed shelter over that, using the cliff face as one of the walls and anchoring it against the ground, then snow to seal all the edges

She then spread the last of the blankets out inside and stood back up and looked to where Sam was wrapped around his brother, trying to coax Dean into eating something.

"That's the best I can do, Sam. Ready for the fun part?"

Together they managed to strip a weakly protesting Dean to his skin. They piled the wet synthetics over the top of the Mylar sheet and forced Dean into lying beneath it, then stripped their own clothes off, layered them on top, and climbed in on either side.

Sam reached up and laid loose stone chips on the open side until it was as sealed as they could reasonably make it.

Cuddling up to Dean was like cuddling with a block of ice. Jess shuddered violently, but clung to him anyways. Sam was curled against Dean's back, whispering something Jess couldn't quite make out into his ear.

"Next time I want to go on a road trip, why don't you take me up on my Vegas offer?" she hissed through lips trembling with cold. "I hear it's warm there."

Sam gave her a shaky smile that broadened into a full blown grin a little while thereafter when Dean started to shiver too, a vast improvement over his deadly stillness since they settled into the shelter. Then the headlamp died, and they were truly in darkness.

With their arms wrapped around Dean in the middle, it was easy for Sam to squeeze Jess's shoulder, distracting her from her misery for a moment to look up even though she had no hope of seeing his face.

"Thank you."

"I love you, too."

She tightened her grip on Dean a bit, trying to settle into a comfortable position in the distant hope of sleeping until the sun rose. Her confusion and grief over what had happened --and almost happened-- in the cave was going to have to wait until their own situation was less precarious.

 

 

  


  
** Chapter Twenty-Two **

  
"But the place which you have selected for your camp,though  
never so rough and grim, begins at once to have its  
attractions, and becomes a very centre of civilization  
to you: "Home is home, be it never so homely."  
                                    -Henry David Thoreau

                           Camping: nature's way of promoting the motel industry.                                     

                         -Dave Barry

 

Dawn was freezing, but at least they could no longer hear the slithering of snow sliding off the Mylar overhead. Jess woke up abruptly at a blast of cold air over her face. Dean, still pressed against her, buried his face harder into her shoulder and mumbled something indistinct. She looked up to find Sam sliding out of the shelter and trying to get back into his clothes.

Sometime during the hours between curling up together in a frozen heap, and the time the sun rose, their body heat had combined enough to make the nest if not actually comfortable, at least warm enough that she didn't feel in danger of freezing to death. Dean showed no real signs of moving or awareness, but his skin wasn't ghastly white and was warm under her hands.

"Where are you going?!" She whispered to Sam.

"To get some of our gear."

"Alone?"

"Dean's clothes are still soaked, I can't do anything about his boots, but at the least I can get him some dry clothes. Mine will be a little big, but at least they won't be wet. Get everyone dry socks. Bring back the stove so we can get some hot drinks and food into us. And some Tylenol; if he doesn't already have a fever, I bet he will by the time I get back. Also enough stuff to rig a travois if we have to. Jordan said his ankle was sprained --he seemed to be trying to walk on it last night, but he was in shock and hypothermic. I wasn't able to examine it when I took his boots off. I don't want to drag him out into the cold right now to take a look, but he might not be able to walk..."

"It took us hours to get out here, Sam."

"In the dark, and the snow. But it's right after dawn now, and I feel fine. A little sore, but nothing that should slow me down. With a compass and some luck I should be able to get back here well before noon, and then we will have most of the day to hike back to the motel. Even if we can't make it that far, we should easily make our old campsite."

"Can walk," seemed to be the muffled statement from somewhere in Jessica's hair.

Sam gave Jess a relieved look at having some evidence Dean was able to track the conversation enough to participate, and ran one hand over his brother's hair. "Go back to sleep, Dean. I'll be here when it's time to get up."

Another sleepy sort of sound and Jessica squirmed a bit trying to get some circulation back into the arm he was lying on.

"Are you going to be okay, Jess?"

"You mean because of the 'lying naked and helpless in the forest in winter with no gear and your sick brother' part? Or the 'lying naked and curled up to your equally naked and hot brother all alone in the middle of the forest while you take a trip' part?" she asked innocently.

Sam gave her a look, but seemed reassured by the normalcy of the conversation --for them-- and started packing the open edge of the shelter back down.

"Sam, wait--" Jess called. He paused and ducked back down to look her. Jess swallowed. "What about the cave-in, did you--"

"It's hopeless," he cut her off, shaking his head in resignation. "This entrance is completely impassible, and ...I saw the roof of the pool collapse, Jess. She was standing right there. I don't see how… There isn't any chance."

She nodded, and laid her head back down while he sealed them in, and set out into the snow.

 

~~~~~~~

Jessica didn't even open her eyes the next time a draft of cold air woke her up; she just growled and threw a leg over Dean before he could move anymore.

"Um."

"Yeah. 'Um,' is about the right speed. If you're awake enough to try and escape, you're awake enough to understand 'get back under the blanket and stay there.' You probably have a fever, and who knows what other injuries. You're stark naked; where exactly do you think you're going?"

"I was just going to get dressed--"

"…In your soaking wet clothes," Jess interjected.

"--and take a look around. Give you some, um, privacy."

"You value my modesty over your life?"

"Look lady, I don't even know who you are!"

"I'm Jessica," she yawned. "Sam's fiancée."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"...Where's Sam?"

"He went back to our campsite to get you some dry clothes, and some other useful things."

"Is it far?"

"Far enough."

Silence for a minute, then, "How did you guys get here? I mean, I guess --why are you guys here? Not that I'm not grateful and everything."

"On our feet, and I think I'll let Sam tell you about that."

There was a noisy rustle of Mylar as he shifted again.

"How long has he been gone?"

"This might have escaped your attention, but I don't have a watch."

Dean was sitting with the sheet to his waist, and the rest of his body exposed to the frigid air. Goose bumps were rising on his skin, and Jess could see him starting to shiver again. He was clearly uncomfortable with her touching him, so she slid her leg back off of his, hoping it would encourage him not to do anything stupid.

"Look. Sam will be back soon, and he won't be really happy if you are frozen solid again. You don't have to curl up with me if you're prudish like that, but at least lie back down and cover up, please?"

He gave her a bit of a wary look, mingled with shock at being called any kind of prude, but lacking any other option he slid back down and pulled the blanket tight under his chin. Jess was starting to drift off when he spoke again.

"So ...I don't remember much of what happened. The last thing I really remember was slipping and getting stuck in that well."

She opened her eyes again and met his, watching her from only a foot or so away. His expression was guarded, and she understood what he was asking.

"The cave collapsed," she said simply. "There was nothing we could do."

"Was it because of me," he asked in a low voice, not meeting her eyes, "did she die because of me?"

"She died because after thousands of years of human visitation, the roof of the cave collapsed. It was a freak accident, Dean. It wasn't anyone's fault."

What she could see of his expression was unconvinced.

She reached out to gently brush fingers over his cheekbone until he looked back at her.

"What was she to you?"

"Are you asking if we were involved?"

"Yes."

"No. She was just another case. A missing girl, some weird circumstances. Something to look into."

"How did you find her?"

"She knocked on my motel room door one night, said she knew I was looking for her and she wanted me to stop."

Jessica blinked. "Did she say where she had been?"

"Around." His voice said the topic was closed.

"So I guess you didn't listen to her."

"No."

Jessica took a more critical look at him and noticed the glazed look to his eyes. "As informative as this conversation is -- and don't think we won't be continuing it later --I think your fever has arrived."

"It's fine."

Jess rolled her eyes and scooted closer to him. He scooted back, and when she had him pinned against the rock face she leaned in and kissed him. He resisted her for a moment, and then relaxed when she traced the tip of her tongue over his lips. The kiss was deep and thorough; he looked stunned from more than the fever when she finally pulled back.

"What was that?!"

"Gratitude."

"Not that I'm complaining, but for what?"

"Not dying before. I don't think that's something Sam would have recovered from, not really, not if you died this way. Even if you have been a jackass to him the last few years." She scooted back, giving him room to get away from the cold rock.

"I think you overestimate his attachment to me."

"And I think the fever isn't helping your intellect!" she snapped, annoyed.

The silence between them was a little sullen after that, but at least he wasn't trying to escape again. She felt a little bad about snapping, but not bad enough not to needle.

"You know," Jess eyed him speculatively, "it's a pity you were so out of it last night. It might have been a great opportunity for you guys to work out some of your issues."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You, Sam, naked. Stranded in the middle of a forest in winter. No choice but to cuddle up real close just to stay alive. Just think of all the possibilities!" She grinned at him.

"That's sick! He's my little brother. You've got problems, lady."

Jess rolled her eyes. "I have problems. I wasn't the one professing my undying love and playing tonsil hockey with my little brother in a Tennessee dive."

Dean scowled at her. But before he could find a suitable retort, the crunch of heavy boots on fresh snow announced Sam's return.

 

~~~~~~~

"Gross. What flavor is this supposed to be again?"

"It's 'hot' flavor; drink it and shut up," Jess growled.

Sam had brought with him the food supplies, camp stove, and dry clothes. Once everyone was dressed and the remains of their shelter was stuffed into the backpack, they had settled down to try to get some hot food down before starting the miserable trip back to the motel. Just because the socks were dry, it didn't mean everyone's boots were, and Jessica was anticipating painful fall-out from the trip.

She was also highly irritated at both Sam and Dean, who were, in her opinion, acting like idiots. Despite whatever other issues were swimming around in their relationship with each other, after a year of desperate searching on Sam's part, and almost certain death the night before on Dean's, Jess thought that they could both have managed more than the stiff greetings and avoidance of eye contact so far exhibited.

The only things Dean had to say were complaints, and Sam was growing quieter and quieter by the moment. Jess just wanted everyone to be silent, and stay that way until she had gotten a long hot shower and at least ten hours of sleep. She was pretty sure that was going to be a tall order though. Beneath the veneer of Dean's almost childish behavior  
\--at least some of which was probably legitimately attributable to shock, fever, sleeplessness, and grief-- she was detecting a certain air of desperation. There was not a doubt in her mind that given five minutes alone and the veneer of opportunity, he would run again, and they had looked too hard for too long to let that happen.

Not without beating some honest answers out of him first, at least.

She wasn't entirely sure he was happy to have been rescued, and if he disappeared in this frame of mind, she didn't believe he would ever turn up again.

  
** Chapter Twenty-Three **

"A man's past is not simply a  
dead history... it is a still  
quivering part of himself, bringing  
shudders and bitter flavours and the  
tinglings of a merited shame."  
                                    -George Eliot

The hike out was every bit as grueling and strenuous as Jessica had feared.

None of them were exactly springing in their stride, but Dean was clearly struggling for every step after the first couple of hours, and equally as clearly not going to ask for a break. After persistent badgering he had admitted his ankle was sore, but refused to commit to a stronger position. He was going to have to walk on it anyways.

Sam was handling Dean's attitude with sullenness of his own, and leading the way. He certainly wasn't keeping his brother's poor health in mind while plowing ahead.

Which left it to Jessica to play the 'girl' card and make them both stop and take a rest periodically. She really wanted to hit them both with tree limbs. But she was afraid Dean would collapse and that would force her to help drag his body the rest of the way --and as off balance as he was acting, Sam might just burst into tears. Or hit her back-- it was that kind of unpredictable mood.

Since she felt like dealing with neither scenario, Jess settled for grinding her teeth and thinking of all the ways she would make them pay later. Pay, and pay, and pay, and--

"I think we're there." Sam's voice was rough and exhausted. It couldn't be more than an hour or so before sundown.

She raised her head and looked off into the trees --sure enough, up ahead the line thinned out, and the patchy cream-colored cinderblock back of the motel was just visible.

Dean didn't even look up.

They trudged out of the trees, and it was surreal. One moment they were in the middle of a forest, half-dead from the elements, the night before they witnessed a death, and a cave-in, and nearly died --and within ten steps they were standing on cracked asphalt in the rear parking lot of a second-rate motel, only feet from the sleek dark presence of the Impala. Hot water and soft beds just the turn of a doorknob away.

Theoretically.

"Okay," Jessica strode firmly past them both towards the front of the building and their room, "you guys can work the order out however you want, but I'm taking the first shower."

She expected some response, and turned around when only silence greeted her statement. Dean was leaning against the Impala looking everywhere but at Sam, and Sam was standing about ten feet away watching him ominously.

"Sam? Everything alright?"

"Yeah. I'm good, Jess. Go ahead and shower, Dean and I need to talk for a minute."

She remembered something. "Dean, can I have the key?"

He gave her a tired smile and fished it out of his borrowed pants, holding it out to her. The smile didn't even come close to his eyes. "It was nice meeting you Jessica."

"That sounds a lot like a goodbye, Dean," Jess said with a frown, taking the key from his fingers and hesitating. She knew he had the keys to the Impala stuffed in another pocket. It hadn't occurred to her that she should have stolen them when she helped strip off his clothes until just that moment.

"It's all right, Jess," Sam's voice was firm. "I'll take care of it. Why don't you go warm up?"

It wasn't really a suggestion, and she was bright enough to know that there were just some things that didn't need third-party interference.

Besides, she hadn't been able to feel her toes for the last few hours, and it was probably important that she go count to make sure they were all still there.

 

~~~~~~~

As soon as Jess rounded the corner and was out of sight, Dean tried to head Sam off.

"Look Sammy, I really appreciate the rescue and all, but I have things to do and places to be. And, uh, Jess --she seems like a real nice girl, I'm sure you guys are eager to get back home to California. Just let me grab my bag from the room, and I'll be out of your hair."

Sam just nodded calmly. "Sure, Dean. I'll let you grab your bag, and take-off for who-knows-where --"

Dean was nodding, a relieved look on his face at Sam's words.

"--and maybe we can meet up on a hunt someday. You know, once Jessica's a little more familiar with the ropes and all. Worked on her aim. Don't really want her out there covering my back if she can't hit the target nine times out of ten and all."

"A hunt?" Dean froze. "What the hell are you talking about, Sam?"

"Hunting," Sam replied levelly. "You know, the family business. It was good enough for Dad, and it's good enough for you; I don't see why it can't be good enough for me. And Jess --she loves the traveling around and everything. She's already torched her first ghost. Gets along real well with Bobby and Pastor Jim. I bet in a few years she'll be amazing in the field. Takes to it like a natural."

"That's fucking insane, Sam! You haven't been on a hunt in years, and you never were a real Hunter. Go back home and get a job. Marry the girl, have fat babies and live a long life. You don't belong out here."

"Funny thing, Dean. I didn't think I did either, until I had to come find you. I haven't been back to California in almost a year. Jess and I, we've been on the road hunting your sorry ass. Pretty much since that enlightening conversation we had back last December, remember that? With Bobby's help and all. And, oh yeah, he's real happy with you too. I wouldn't plan on his greeting being especially warm next time you run into him, unless it's actually toasty. But the trip's not been bad --kind of like, what was it you said? Going back home?"

"What do you mean you've been after me for a year?!"

"Remember how I told you were going to die this year?"

"Yeah," Dean said warily.

Sam was smiling tightly. So tight his face was hurting, but he couldn't seem to stop. The entire thing was so goddamned ridiculous. "Well when I got home, after you blew me off, I had a vision, this one of your actual death. In Tennessee you said you couldn't avoid it if you didn't have details, but when I had the fucking details you were no where to be found. So don't you talk to me about being safe and going home, you jackass! All you had to do was leave one lousy number with Bobby --or even check in with him, once, Dean-- and this entire expedition would have been unnecessary."

His voice roughened, "But that was too much, wasn't it? Bobby ratted you out to me once, and you sure as hell weren't gonna let that happen again. I don't even know why the hell you claim to care if I want to take up hunting or not."

"It's because I love you, Sammy," Dean replied, his voice equally low.

"Don't even start with that shit again, Dean. I'm not in the mood to be fucked with right now. And stop calling me Sammy, I haven't been that kid in at least ten years."

Dean gave a harsh laugh at that. "You aren't hearing me, Sam. I love you--"

Sam rolled his eyes and started to tell Dean that he didn't understand how Dean freaking showed it, when the rest of his brother's sentence shocked him into silence.

"--like you love Jessica." The honestly in his eyes was painful.

The only thing running through Sam's head was --_oh my God, Jess was right_\-- and a strange feeling of almost …relief, but that terrified him; he ignored it.

Dean's smile was the same weird sort of satisfied it had been all those month ago in Cookeville.

"So that's it, then?" Dean taunted. "No snappy comebacks, no reaction of disgust? C'mon, Sam, you must have a few of those big college words that are right for this occasion!"

After a few more minute of Sam just looking at him, Dean shrugged and turned towards the car, keys jingling in his hand. "No, then? You should have stayed at school, Sam. I told you to leave me alone." He unlocked the door. "You know what? Turns out I don't need that bag after all."

"How long?"

Dean paused without turning back around. "How long what?"

"How long have you …felt this way?"

Dean shrugged. "Does it matter? A while. Maybe since Austin."

"I was sixteen in Austin, Dean!"

Dean spun. "And I didn't lay a hand on you, Sam! You didn't even know. It's not my fucking fault I have these feelings for you! You think I wanted this? That this in any way makes my life _better_?"

"That's not--" Sam paused and took a few breaths. This would go better without the yelling, and it wasn't anyone else's business anyways. "--that's not my problem. Why didn't… No, I know why. I just wish…" He ran one hand through his sweaty, damp hair. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the last day or so was making him feel almost dizzy. "I just wish you had told me."

"Yeah, there's a conversation that would have been fun."

"You told Dad!"

"I told Dad because you were seventeen and in my face all day long, and then the bastard kept putting us up in crap motels with single beds because it was cheaper, while he went off for freaking weeks at a time leaving us alone because I was supposed to take care of any school problems you had and keep you safe. I tried to sleep on the floor, and you pitched a freaking fit! For no goddamned reason I might add. And when I hustled the cash and changed rooms so we got our own beds, he pitched a fit because we didn't stay where he put us. It fucking sucked, Sam. My self-control is awesome, but that was… that was too much. I needed some space."

"I didn't want you to sleep on the floor because the bed was plenty big enough for both of us, and the carpet might have given you some kind of disease."

Dean glared.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. That hadn't been why he wanted Dean in the bed with him, but he hadn't known it was some kind of torture for his older brother too. Sam had always been the kind of kid who poked bruises just to see if they were still sore.

The problem between them was like nothing he had imagined, and he felt, deep in the place where all his visions started, that they either resolved some issues now, or they weren't going to have another chance.

"I didn't want you to sleep on the floor …because I liked having you there. You wanting to sleep on the floor --it felt like you just wanted to get away from me."

"I did just want to get away from you," Dean growled.

"Not like that, like …like you were rejecting me."

"What?" Dean asked, baffled.

Sam gave a half-hearted shrug. "I just wish you had told me what you were feeling, Dean. Maybe things would have been different."

"Different how, Sam? What are you saying?"

"I don't know. I really --I just don't know, Dean. You've got my head all confused, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore."

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean turned back, twisting the key in the lock and pulling the door open. It stuck for a moment, the ice and snow holding the seal shut. "This is my problem. I'm gonna …I'm gonna just go. I'll let Bobby know where I am, all right? Make sure he has a number. Maybe I can call you in a few weeks after you get back home, maybe we can talk a little then."

"No, Dean," was the flat reply. "I really don't think this is just your problem anymore. And I'm not going back to California. And don't you even think you're going anywhere alone right now." Sam crossed the distance in a heartbeat, and slammed his hand against the door, closing it with a bang, his brother's shocked face only inches away.

"Come inside, get warm. Let me take a better look at your injuries and then we can all see about some actual food and sleep. Don't even fucking start, Dean," he snapped when Dean's eyes hardened and he looked like he was about to start yelling. "You try to leave without my permission, and I swear Jess and I will be right behind you, no matter how long it takes. You want to do stupid things? Hunt monsters and risk your life? We'll be right on your heels. So keep that firmly in mind when you're planning your next move. You and I aren't done with this conversation yet."

"Your permission?! There isn't anything to discuss!"

Sam said nothing, just watched him grimly, holding the Impala door shut, until Dean swore and stomped off towards the room.

Then Sam stopped by the room just long enough to grab his car keys from Jess, and headed into town to let them know about the cave-in.

 

~~~~~~~

The police station had been a bust. Initially concerned, the more Sam spoke and tried to show them on a map where the accident had taken place, the more incredulous the officers had gotten. Finally, the story having been relayed to at least ten different people, the group consensus had been that people who did drugs in the woods deserved whatever awful hallucinations they had, and that Sam should go and sleep off the dregs somewhere out of the way.

Sam was as confused as angry when he stomped out. He had no doubts about the impossibility of Jordan's survival, so he wasn't worried about her suffering somewhere. But the total disbelief he had gotten back was baffling. The cave wasn't that hard to find, surely. But most of the people he had spoken with had claimed to be life-long experienced regional hikers, all of them knew the rumors of the cave, and none of them had even found it, or knew anyone who had. They all agreed it was a local legend, and Sam was out of his mind. Finally, he just left.

Back at the motel, he knocked at the door to the room and stepped inside a moment later when Jess opened it. She was wearing his boxers again, and one of his clean flannels over her own t-shirt. Her damp hair straggled over her shoulders and she had a towel in one hand where she had probably been working on drying the wet strands. The heater was rattling, cranked up high, but its effectiveness was debatable. After the last night, Sam didn't feel like complaining.

The water in the bathroom was running, and Sam was grateful there would be a few minutes before he had to deal with Dean again. He snagged Jess by the waist and pulled her in for a hug. Her wet hair smelled like cheap shampoo, but her arms were strong wrapped around his back.

He told her about the police station. She was angry, but not as outraged as he had expected.

"Maybe it's for the best. Maybe …maybe no one should be out there. Look what happened to Jordan, and now it's all sealed up anyways."

Sam heard the hitch in her speech when she mentioned Jordan's name and frowned. "You know there wasn't anything we could have done for her, right Jess? From the minute she slid down into the pool there wasn't anything that was going to save her."

"I know that, and we didn't ask her to do it …but we were only able to save Dean because she helped us, and then we just left her there. Trapped. It could have been either of us down there instead."

"If we had stayed any longer, we would all have died. She knew that, Jess. She told us to go."

He felt her nod against his chest.

"I know, Sam. I just …we watched a woman die last night, no one is ever going to recover her body, she won't be buried with her family, people won't even know what happened to her. Just us. It's …it's a heavy sort of thing, Sam, for me at least. I need some time to work through it."

Sam hugged her tight, dropped a kiss on her brow, then released her with a grimace, "I'm getting you dirty again."

She hung on a moment longer, before stepping back and sitting on the edge of the bed to towel her hair off some more. "I was more concerned about the water soaking into my clothes."

"What do you mean, 'your clothes?'"

"What's yours is mine, isn't that somewhere in the traditional wedding vows?" Sam was relieved at the normal tone of the banter. He had slid back into the rhythm of the hunter's life so easily, and Jess fit so well at his side, that sometimes he forgot how new it all was to her still. She didn't have the experience or the perspective to easily accept the death of another person and just move on. He found himself fiercely hoping she never acquired that skill.

"I have no idea --and does that mean what's yours is mine too?"

"Probably not," she said with mock sorrow, "you know how the court system is. On the other hand, if you have the sudden urge to wear some lacy panties, by all means don't let me stop you."

His eyebrows went up. "Is that a suggestion?"

"Not for my part, but never let it be said I stood in the way of your personal expression. I'm sure I would learn to endure." He grin was cheeky and her eyes bright, shadows of the past days events were still visible, but she was making the effort to bear up.

Sam smiled back and started to offer a sarcastic comment on the likelihood of the enterprise, when the creak of shifting feet on the cheap plastic tub liner in the bathroom caught their attention for a moment and distracted him.

"How was he?" Sam asked her quietly.

Jess shrugged. "Quiet. What did you guys talk about in the parking lot?"

"You were right about how he feels about me. That was the big secret. I feel so stupid!"

"For what? Not noticing? Not believing him back when he told you the first time?"

"No. Yes! All of it."

"I don't really think you can blame yourself for this, Sam. It's not exactly the sort of thing siblings look for in each other. And your brother strikes me as kind of the macho type --it must have freaked him out completely. Well, I imagine it would freak most people out really." She looked considering. "As far as that first encounter goes --you said yourself he was acting like he just wanted to get rid of you. He had most of your life to figure out the best ways to do that; no great surprise it worked. I wouldn't beat yourself up over this."

"He's a total mess, Jess. You know he was going to jump right back in his car and take off? He's way underweight; I don't think all those bruises were just from the fall. You saw those scars on him when we stripped him. I mean, it's a dangerous lifestyle, but I don't even know where he got most of them, which means they're in the last few years. And some of them …he must have almost died, Jess. And he probably patched himself up using dental floss, a fishhook and gin."

She nodded. "You guys reach any decisions?"

"I told him if he left without my permission you and I would be right on his heels, and if he was planning to go throwing himself back into danger he had damn well better make sure he took that into account, since he claims to love me so much and all."

Jess winced. "I bet that went over well."

"I don't give a damn how it went over, it's the truth." Sam hesitated. "It is the truth, right?"

"Damn straight."

Sam looked relieved. Jessica had been so enthusiastic about everything, he hadn't really paused to consider what she might think about his rash promise. She had only signed on to find Dean with the idea that they could warn him off and let him go, not play indefinite babysitter. But now they had him and the situation was not at all what Sam had expected. Dean was clearly not in good shape, or trustworthy to lay low for awhile and heal up before doing the next stupid thing. Knowing that all of this had been touched off by a matter not of hatred, but something so stupid …He just couldn't let Dean go without making some sort of peace between them.

"Besides," Jess added after a thoughtful moment, "he might like you in the lacy panties too."

Sam groaned and went to do some pacing outside.

 

~~~~~~~

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom a little while later, Jess was nowhere to be seen.

Sam didn't say anything about how Dean's own clothes hardly fit him any better than Sam's had, but he could tell from the self-conscious way Dean picked at them that he was aware of it. Not that either one of them cared in the least for notions of fashion, but it was one more sign that Dean hadn't been taking care of himself. He told Dean about what had happened with the police; Dean nodded to acknowledge it, but had no comment.

"Where's Jessica?" Dean asked.

"She decided the heater in the car would work better for drying her hair, and went into town to find a drive-through to bring back dinner."

"I hope she's getting a lot. I feel like I haven't eaten in a week."

"Have you?" Sam asked pointedly.

Dean shot him a look. "I'm not an idiot, Sam. I just got a little wrapped up in the case. You know, too much running around, not enough cheeseburgers. It's fine."

"You've got a lot of new scars, Dean."

"What did you expect, Sam? I've been a solitary hunter for pretty much the last six years. It leaves its marks."

"Dad was a solitary hunter a hell of a lot longer than that, and he didn't have half the damage I saw on you."

"Maybe Dad was just a lot better at it," Dean snapped. "Doesn't mean the job doesn't have to be done."

Sam let that pass without comment.

Dean paced agitatedly for a few minutes, as Sam slouched in a chair by the door, flipping idly through his father's journal which Jess had brought in for him from the trunk before leaving. His posture was casual, but his placement was deliberate, and Dean knew it too. He wasn't getting out of the room without a fight.

"What do you want from me, Sam?"

"I want you to be alive, Dean. I want to see some signs that you are taking care of yourself, and aren't going to wind up butchered in an alley somewhere because you took a careless risk and went down under something's claws. I know hunting is dangerous! But there's stupidly dangerous, and then there's dangerously stupid. Guess which category you seem to be falling under?"

Dean bristled, but settled for a glare and resumed pacing.

Sam let the silence settle for a few minutes before changing topics.

"So --Jordan."

"What about her?" Dean asked warily.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?"

"What's there to tell? Girl goes missing under some weird circumstances, I do some investigating. Girl shows up at my motel a few months later and asks me to stop trailing her, I don't. Girl wanders off into a cave in the middle of the freaking forest, I follow and slide into a hole. Girl gets help for me, the cave collapses, girl gets killed. That's pretty much all there is."

Sam looked at him levelly. "That's great, Dean. How about we start a little more back at the beginning. You ever find out what caused the glass to break like that?"

Dean didn't look at all surprised that Sam knew about the details of Jordan's disappearance; Sam had always been good at getting the facts. "Nope."

"You never asked her?"

"Jordan wasn't big on straight answers. All she told me was there are a lot of forces in the world, and sometimes, like with any force, things break under their pressure."

"That's …interesting."

"That's a lot politer than what I said when she told me that."

"So she wasn't abducted then? She left on her own?"

"I don't think so." Dean sank onto the edge of the bed furthest from Sam, wincing as he pulled his feet up to examine them. "She didn't seem very happy about that. Maybe she wasn't ripped from her bed by masked gunmen and thrown into an unmarked van, but I'm pretty sure she felt she had to leave."

"She didn't take anything with her."

Dean shrugged. "She took everything she needed."

"So you started looking for her in June after she vanished?"

"I didn't hear about the story until July."

"Still, that's …five or six months almost? That's a long time for you to focus on a single hunt, and for a girl who might have walked away on her own?" Sam was still casually messing with the journal in his hands, and as he turned it a folded paper slid out and fluttered to the floor.

"I had to find her," Dean muttered. He rose and walked over to pick up the paper before Sam could reach down for it. He sat back on the bed next to Sam's chair and spread it open on his knee. It was the drawing Sam had found in the journal before, his proof that Dean had found the missing girl.

"Jordan's drawing? You needed to find her because of the drawing?"

"She didn't draw this. But as soon as I saw her room, I knew I needed to find her."

"She didn't …I saw her room, Dean. That fits right in with all the other angels hanging there. It has the same …signature. A kind of ...almost mystical aura to it. If Jordan Black didn't draw that angel, who did?"

Dean was still stroking the paper gently with a finger tip, tracing over the lines. "Me."

  
** Chapter Twenty-Four **

 

"For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe  
as it really is than to persist in delusion,  
however satisfying and reassuring."  
                                    -Carl Sagan

Sam didn't know what to say for a moment. Then he chuckled.

"Right, Dean. You drew that. The only things you've ever drawn in your life are directions to a girl's house and a few containment sigils or traps. I saw an art project you did once, and I know for a fact you don't draw any better than me --and I can barely make a tree recognizable."

Dean smiled unhappily. "What can I say, Sammy. One day I was sketching lewd stick figures on bar napkins, the next day I was drawing fucking still lifes of the heavenly host."

Sam stared at him, at the tension in his shoulders, at the way he wouldn't quite meet his brother's eyes.

"You're actually serious about this."

"No, I thought it would be a really great April Fool's joke! Oh, except it isn't April, and I'm not laughing."

"Jesus, Dean."

"Yeah, he might be involved. Given the subject matter and all."

"This isn't funny!"

"No shit, Sam. Do you have any idea what other hunters would do if they suddenly found out I'm doing some kind of --I don't know-- spirit drawing of freaky-ass angels? I do, and the exorcism would be the fun part! Things like this just don't happen without something supernatural being involved!"

"So you suddenly like to draw angels. There's no reason for any other hunter to care about your artistic inclinations, Dean. I mean, it's paper and pen; not blood and death."

"You saw Jordan's room, Sam." Dean held up the drawing in his lap so Sam could see the entire thing, "How was it, standing around in there. Do you really think it's just paper and pen? This doesn't say anything to you?"

Now it was Sam's turn to swallow. "It's powerful."

"Yeah," Dean snorted and laid the drawing back down on his knee. "'Powerful' is one word for it."

"Do you really think it's freaky?"

"What?"

"You called them 'freaky-ass' angels. Do you really think they're freaky?"

Dean froze and took his hands away from the paper he had begun unconsciously tracing again.

"Dean?"

"No. They're... I don't know, Sam. They scare the shit out of me. But they're almost--" Dean looked like he was struggling for a word, "--comforting, too."

Sam couldn't see anything comforting in the angel drawings. They were powerful, but in a stern unyielding sort of way. Both the promise and the threat. They made his skin crawl, but he couldn't deny the compulsion of their presence.

"So how does this work, the drawings?"

"How does what work?"

"I mean, do you have to draw them --does it just happen? Or is it something you want to do and you actually think about how you want it to look?"

Dean frowned and looks down at the drawing again. "I think I could draw one anytime I wanted to, but sometimes it feels stronger, like there's something I have to get out. It's not painful, or really demanding. But if I'm alone, and there's a pen at hand and something to draw on ...it just happens sometimes."

"What do you do with them?"

"I burn them," Dean replied flatly.

"So there's no problem with that then?"

"It feels like I imagine peeling off your own skin would."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam muttered.

His brother shrugged. "What the hell am I supposed to do with them, Sam? I'm a hunter, I can't be leaving a little fluttery trail of creepy drawings behind me everywhere I go. You said yourself, they're powerful. Jordan hung every damn angel she drew, and kept whole folders of the ones she didn't have wall-space for. Look what happened to her!"

"Jordan died when a cave collapsed, Dean. I hardly think the angels were involved."

Dean gave Sam a level look. "I wasn't completely unconscious, Sam. I didn't think you guys were real, but I heard the conversation up top. I know Jordan told you about the cave. I could hear them whispering, the whole time I was lying in the water. Thousands of voices." He shuddered.

"What were they saying?"

Dean looked up with haunted eyes. "You don't want to know, Sam. Horrible things, things about death and destruction, things about me, about you ...hell, maybe even about Jess. I don't really remember now, it's like some fucking dream. But if those were the angels Jordan was drawing, that I draw, trust me --we should burn every one of them and bury the ashes in salted ground."

"But you said you found them comforting."

Dean glared. "Did you miss the part about freaky, and creepy, and powerful?!"

Sam recalled what Frank Black had said about people with Jordan's talent, and thought about Dean, miserable and alone, drawing angels in dingy hotel rooms while letting his life fall apart. Jordan's expression right before the rockfall cut off Sam's view. The neat sterility of her father's house. The grief in the man's voice when he spoke of the family he had loved, and lost.

Sam heard his own voice as if from a distance. "I won't let you go, Dean."

Dean snorted. "No shit, Sam. I can see you parked in front of the door like a warden."

"No, I mean ...I can't, Dean. I can't stand back and pretend I don't know where this is headed. And I don't think you can stop it alone."

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"Frank Black said he had known three people with this gift. He said that two of them had destroyed themselves, and it drove Jordan and him apart. Now Jordan is dead too, and you're a freaking mess. I'm not going to sit back and watch you fly off the same fucking cliff!"

"From drawings?! Are you insane, Sam?! I've lost a few pounds, and ducked a little too late a couple of times, and now I'm going through ink pens a little faster than I used to. It's not a sign of the end times!"

"No, but that angel might be. Isn't that what the voices told you?"

"That isn't what I said." Dean shifted uncomfortably. "How did you even get Black to talk to you? I knocked on his door and he totally blew me off."

"He knew you were lying."

"He did not."

"He did, he told me so," Sam shrugged.

"Well, how did you get in?"

"I told him I had a vision of you dying and his daughter was involved. He still wasn't really happy about it, but he talked to us for a while."

"He let you in because you said you had a vision?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I got the impression Frank isn't a stranger to visions. And I told you he knew about Jordan's gift, and other people like her."

"Whatever, man." Dean's stomach rumbled loud enough for them to both hear. "How far away did you say your girl was going to get food again?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "She's got a name, and she isn't 'my girl,' she's my fiancée, Dean. Which will make her your sister-in-law eventually. Try to show at least a little more respect than you give your average one-night stands?"

"When's the wedding?" Dean folded the drawing back and held out his hand for the journal. When Sam passed it over, he carefully slid the drawing back between the pages.

"Whenever we get around to it. It's just a ceremony, Dean. A formalization of what we already have."

"So Sammy's off the market --good for you!" Dean's tone was right, and so was his smile, but it didn't reach his eyes, and Sam remembered sharply where the entire mess had started.

"Dean--"

"Don't, Sam. I'm a big boy. Whatever fucked up issues I have, they are my issues. There isn't anything you need to do for me, or because of me. Just ...let me sort it out myself."

"You tried that already. It doesn't seem to have helped anything."

"So what's your solution then, Sam? I already offered to take off, and you didn't like that idea."

"Because you're going to wind up face down in a ditch!" Sam snapped.

"Then what?! Your fiancée seems like a nice open girl, and she kisses like a grand champ, but I have to think she would balk a little at having her husband's brother tagging along lusting after him, you know?"

"How do you know how she kisses?" Sam asked, distracted from his comeback.

Dean shrugged and tossed the journal onto the table. "When you left us to go get the stove and stuff, she pinned me against the freaking rock and tried to knock my tonsils out."

"Why would she do that?"

"Said it was 'gratitude,' you know --for not dying an' all. I have to tell you, Sam, if that's how she shows gratitude to complete strangers, I'm impressed you can even walk most mornings."

"She said she wished she had been in the hotel room."

"What hotel room?"

"Back in Cookeville, when I ran you down the first time. I told her about it and she said she wished she had been there."

"To watch us fight?" Dean asked, baffled.

"To watch us kiss. She said she thought it would be hot."

"First of all, I can't believe you told her that; but mostly, I can't believe she told you that." Dean shook his head admiringly. "Where did you find this one again, Sam?"

"College."

"Clearly, the catalogues aren't using their most valuable selling points."

"How would you know what's in a college catalogue?"

"I do have a GED, Sam, I did some looking around at my options at one point."

"I ...can't believe you ever considered giving up the job."

"It was shortly after Austin --I needed to get away from you, Dad kept tying us together... College seemed like maybe a good out. That's actually what made me tell him about my 'issue' in the first place." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "Dad caught me with some brochures. He looked like I'd betrayed him. Stabbed him in the back. It was ...unpleasant. Might be why he was such a bastard to you when you said you were going to Stanford."

"Maybe." Sam swallowed. "Look, Jess, um, seems to think... I don't know that she'd really be adverse to the idea of, you know ...sharing."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

A sharp knock on the door distracted Sam before he could do more than give Dean a glare as he rose to peer through the hole. Jessica's blond hair was a hazy cloud through the probably-never-cleaned viewing glass, and he could hear her muttering uncomplimentary things about guys who left girls out in the freezing cold wearing only their boxers.

He swung the door open and she promptly dumped two sacks of food in his arms and leaped for the bed.

"Oh good, you've warmed it up."

She toed off her boots and climbed under the blanket, displacing Dean through sheer persistent wiggling until her legs had taken over the warm spot where he had been sitting.

"In some parts of the world, when it's snowing, people wear pants."

"If I were you, I wouldn't be pointing out to others what's acceptable in 'some parts of the world,'" she replied tartly.

Dean glared.

Sam sighed and dropped the bags on the table. "How about we just eat?"

 

~~~~~~~

Later that night Jess was curled up with Sam in the bed closest to the door. Closer even than usual, actually, since Sam had insisted on shoving the bed out from the wall so the door wouldn't open unless the bed was moved back.

Dean had snapped and snarled when Sam had insisted on taking that bed in the first place, and looked completely betrayed when Sam had further insisted on blocking the door. But Sam had just calmly told Dean that he could sleep in whichever bed he wanted, and the furniture could stay where it started, but only if Dean slept with one of them so they would know if he tried to sneak off in the night.

Jess had helpfully amended that to "at least one of them," and then made a good attempt at a leer when Dean turned his glare back on her.

But that was all hours ago, and Dean had long ago fallen deep into a hopefully healing sleep. It was sleep, at least; his snoring was probably audible two rooms down in either direction.

Sam had caught Jess up in whispers about the revelations of his discussion with Dean. She had been both appalled and amazed, and agreed that Dean needed to not be out on his own. Frank Black's revelation was fresh in both of their minds.

For a while they lapsed in to silence, as they tried to drift off in the haze of the racket from the far bed.

"Does he always snore like that?" Jess finally asked sleepily.

"He didn't used to. I think it's because he's getting sick."

"'Kay. I'll postpone judgment on a smothering until he gets a chance to heal up."

"Did you really try to knock his tonsils out at the cave?"

She smiled against his chest. "He looked so pathetic, and lost."

"And smoking hot?" he added dryly.

"Not so much, more wounded puppy with mange. But the potential was obvious. And it served its purpose. He was definitely distracted, and calmed down a little."

"I'm not terribly surprised that being mauled by a strange naked woman had a calming effect on Dean."

"I think it was more that if I wanted to suck on his lips, I probably didn't want to stab him in the heart."

"That's ...really special imagery you're drawing for me there."

"Do you like it? I figured I should return the favor, since you gave me such a tantalizing visual image about a certain hotel room encounter."

Sam stroked her hair in silence for awhile, listening to his brother breathe and feeling Jess's heartbeat against his skin.

"Are you serious?" he asked finally, not certain she was still awake.

"About what?"

"All of it. The innuendo, and suggestive stuff. About me and Dean."

Jessica pushed herself up on one elbow so she could see his face, heavily shadowed in the dingy light leaking through the curtain from the parking lot.

"I think you're going to have to be a little more specific, Sam."

"It's just, you've been totally calm with his wanting me, you know -- like that, and maybe my own feelings, and about the kiss, and keeping him with us…. I just wanted to know if you were serious about, I don't know, thinking it was hot. Maybe wanting to be involved."

"Wow," she said finally. "How painful was that to get out?"

"I'm serious, Jess."

"I know, Sam. And I'm thinking. I guess ...what exactly are you proposing? I'm guessing we are talking actual touching? As in the biblical sort of sense?"

"I don't know. I don't even know how Dean will react to the idea, or how much I would be comfortable with."

"This isn't the sort of thing you can suggest as an experiment, Sam, or something where you can draw hard lines between 'allowed' and 'not allowed.' Are you ready for that? What you're talking about --this is a big deal. He's in love with you! You can't say, 'Let's try this for a while,' and then take it back if you decide it's not working. Not and have a prayer of keeping any kind of relationship with him."

"I don't want to lose him, Jess."

"That doesn't mean you have to offer yourself up like a sacrifice to try and keep him with you."

"It's not like that. I don't think ...it wouldn't be a sacrifice, Jess."

"Are you sure about that, Sam?"

"You don't like the idea."

She sighed. "What I don't like is the idea of you trying this, it backfiring terribly, and the two of you never speaking again. And yeah, I'm a little nervous that maybe you'll like it too much, and I'll be the odd person out."

Sam could feel the tension in her body where it leaned against his. He pulled her down until she was laying on his chest again. "You will never be the odd person out. This isn't about me choosing you or him. I will never not choose you. This is about if you're okay with it, and he is, maybe..."

"Giving me a chance to live out a few fantasies?"

"Sure, Jess. I'm actually arranging all of this as an engagement present."

"That's because you always go that extra mile."

Sam smiled involuntarily, then let it slip away as he grew serious again. "I didn't even ask --because this is about the three of us, not just me and Dean, and me and you-- do you even like him?"

"I told you he's a hottie."

"Yeah, and that's all that matters in this." He rolled his eyes.

They both paused when the snoring from across the room stuttered for a moment, and relaxed when it resumed.

"I like him, Sam. He's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, and a little wild eyed and jumpy --though that's probably the current circumstances. And it's not like I've really had a lot of time to make an informed decision, but I like what I've seen, and what I've heard, and if you really want to do this, and he's willing..." She shrugged.

"You can't be that okay with this. If you don't want too, it's okay. Really."

"Are you jealous that you're not the only Winchester man I think is hot?" she asked with an arched brow. "What do you want me to say, Sam? I already told you my concern. Oh, and if he's having sex with us, he's not screwing skanks --make sure you make that point painfully clear when you guys have this little discussion."

Sam made a kind of choking noise, clearly not having really thought things out in those terms before, and she went on.

"And Sam, sweetie, baby, lover, you have been a great study and passion of mine for the better part of a decade now and even if you don't know this about yourself, I do: if you've gotten this idea so far under your skin that we are actually having a serious discussion about opening up our pending marriage to include your brother, then it isn't a casual sort of thing for you anymore. You said I won't ever be second, and I'm going to believe that. I don't understand about psychic "gifts" --yours or his-- or even really about hunting, not like you do --but I understand about the heart. He's been in love with you for almost ten years, and you've always been the center of his life. You talk about maybe having some of the same feelings, you have visions of his death and then we spend a year on the road trying to save him, I spend a year on the road trying to save him... I feel like we tossed out conventionality when we left California, and --I don't know, Sam. I feel almost like there's this sense of inevitability. Like this is something that's been coming since last Christmas. When we dragged him out of that cave, with all the fear and horror --I still felt like something clicked. Like it was meant to be, we were meant to be. I don't understand it, Sam, and with all the talk about psychic visions and that cave, I'm more than a little afraid that this isn't just us anymore. But we all feel it, and I agree that letting him go is stupid. So ...yeah. If he's in, and you're in, I am too.

"And really," she added, before Sam could say anything about her assessment of the situation, "the idea of the conversation you are going to have to have with him alone is almost worth the price of admission."

"Thanks for that," he said dryly, then frowned and focused on her earlier statement. "What do you mean about that cave? About this not being about us?"

He felt the movement against his skin as she shrugged. "It just feels right, Sam. And I can't point to any reason why it should. I barely know him, he's your brother, tying us all together guarantees that you and I will never be free of the hunting stuff, and probably that we will be spending a lot of time on the road. Which means another reevaluation of our career intentions, and everything else we discussed wanting out of life. Plus the whole problem of being a threesome in general. Assuming this all actually works out, and one of us doesn't storm off in the first few weeks --down the road, what are we going to do? What about marriage? You and me? Me and Dean? Fake some birth certificates, drive to Vermont --you and Dean? The marriage laws in this country are starting to change a little, but I doubt any state is going to be licensing polyandry anytime soon! And kids ...I don't even know how to begin to think about that issue."

Sam nodded. "You still didn't tell me what you meant about the cave."

Jess shifted against him. "It wasn't just Dean, I heard ...voices."

"What?"

"Voices. From down the tunnels, and I think maybe ...maybe from beyond that pool, too."

"It was just echoes, Jess. It was a creepy cave, but I don't think there was really anything there."

She thought about reminding him about the ancient carvings that centuries of flowing water hadn't touched, about human skeletons and his mangled visions that he still hadn't sorted out --but if she did that he might make her talk about it more, and the night was cold and dark enough already. And Jordan's death --no, she wasn't ready to have that conversation again.

"So it sounds like maybe I shouldn't talk to Dean yet." Sam said after a moment. She couldn't tell if the tone of his voice was relieved or reluctant. "Maybe we should think about this a little while longer."

"Anything going to change by waiting? Except for giving him more opportunity to escape? Concerns about marriage, living arrangements, kids ...these aren't things the two of us can decide without him. We need to know if we are even going to try before we start tying ourselves in knots. And if we do try, and it does work ...then we can sort it out later."

Sam swallowed. "Okay then, any idea how we should approach him?"

"Oh, there's no "we" in this, Sam," she said firmly, "he's your brother, and this is your idea. I'm willing to go along for the ride, but you get to lay the groundwork."

"Fine. Any suggestions as to how I should approach him?"

"Try naked. I know that always weakens my resolve."

"Somehow I don't see that really helping matters."

"Your problem is that he's not going to believe you're serious. He's going to think he has to save you from yourself, or something equally noble."

"I thought you didn't know him."

"Please. I know big brothers. This whole thing started with a kiss," she shrugged again, a slide of smooth skin that perked Sam's attention in other ways, "so back him into a corner and try it again."

"I find it highly suspicious that your solutions to almost everything involve some kind of clothing removal or kissing."

"I'm a friendly sort of girl. You inspire me. And apparently encourage me to be even friendlier."

Sam winced. "Right. Well, how about you and your friendliness try for some sleep? Tomorrow promises to be almost as much fun as today."

Jessica shuddered. "I hope you are talking about the motel room portion of today, because if you are talking about the frozen death-march part --I'm opting out."

"Go to sleep."

Silence broken only by Dean's snores fell back over the room. Jess had almost drifted off when she realized Sam's breathing had grown uneven, her fingers brushed his face gently and found tears.

"I thought he hated me," Sam whispered.

Jess curled her body around him and hummed French lullabies in the filtered light until she was certain he was asleep.

  
** Chapter Twenty-Five **

"A man travels the world  
In search of what he needs,  
and returns home to find it."  
                                    -George Moore

Jess had been the first one to roll out of bed. She left, dressed in her own winter clothes with a shopping list in hand of necessities like beer, cough drops, aspirin, and Twinkies.

And strict instructions to bring back lunch. Lots of lunch.

Sam had looked like he was going to go back to sleep after he woke up with her crawling over him to get out of bed, but that wasn't at all the point of Jess vacating the room, so she had made a special point to bounce on Dean's bed a few times while getting her shoes on to make sure he was good and conscious too.

"You brother has something to talk to you about," she had announced firmly, before dropping an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek and standing up. Sam got a more lingering and personal sort of farewell, along with a warning look accompanied by a meaningful glance towards Dean while Jess used her full body weight to shove the bed the few inches away from the door so she could get out.

Sam, feeling a little betrayed by her abandonment, didn't feel at all guilty about not helping. Or not getting off of it to make it easier either.

From the little grin at the corner of her mouth as she closed the door, she was well aware of his feelings on the matter.

Dean waited until she had left the room before turning his head to face Sam on the other bed, his expression still a little stunned by the nature of his awakening.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

Sam sighed and gave up the idea of more sleep. "Let's get up and dressed first."

"Is that going to make this better?"

"Probably not, but at least I'll be awake."

"Is that going to make this better?"

"No."

 

~~~~~~~

As it turned out, Sam was right. Being dressed and fully awake didn't seem to be helping anything at all. They sat on the edges of the beds, facing each other across the narrow strip of carpet. Sam doing almost all of the talking while Dean listened in stunned silence. At least, that seemed to be what he was feeling from the expression on his face.

Dean waited until Sam was done outlining the idea, then ran both hands through his hair and gave a kind of stunned chuckle.

"So, the idea is that, you, me, and your girlfriend--

"She's my fiancée, Dean."

"Yeah, Sam. Gotta tell you, that's not really helping your case here. If you wanted to have a threesome with some random barfly that might sorta be okay. But where was I? Right --so you, me, and your fiancée, all ...what? Hold hands on the beach? Cuddle naked together in second rate motels as we --and this is the part I'm really fuzzy about-- do what exactly?! Roam randomly over the countryside looking for sad people in need of legal advice, and what does Jess do again?"

"She's a French translator," Sam ground out, "for a pharmaceutical company."

"Yeah, there's a lot of call for that on the road."

"Obviously, we don't have to do that kind of work --we haven't been for the last year!"

"That's another thing, not that I'm not grateful you guys dropped everything to come save me, but what have you been doing for money? I don't see you and Jess exactly raking it in with the credit card schemes."

"No. We've been running errands for Bobby, and she has a trust fund. We haven't been living it up on the road, Dean."

"And you want to do this forever? You want us to all hook up and travel around while I hunt and you guys …what? Hang out in the Impala? Paint each others nails?"

"Screw you, Dean. If you aren't interested then just say it, but don't make up excuses on our behalf to excuse your own cowardice. If you are interested --we can work that stuff out, work everything out. You want to hunt? I'm not stopping you, but you can hunt better with the kind of research skills I have. Plus, you'll have two people to help you out with the day-to-day crap and to patch you up when you duck too slow, and to freaking notice if you go missing. There are online things I can do as a lawyer for money; they don't pay very much, but they pay enough to live on the road. I have a law degree, I can take the Bar in any state. The same thing with Jess. She won't be in an office, but she can still do technical edits and translations for people, and just mail them in. Bobby will toss jobs our way that require knowledge, but not actual field work, and yeah, Dean, if it comes down to that, you'd have someone to watch your back in the field."

Dean didn't say anything, just slumped his shoulders and looked at the carpet.

"Dean?"

"This is a big thing, Sam. I can't let you do this. It isn't fair. Not to you, and not to Jess."

"Remember what I said about you making decisions for us?"

"This is different, Sam."

"It's not different! And it doesn't have to be complicated. Just tell me, do you want to try this or not?"

Dean licked his lips nervously. "What would we do?"

Sam looked more uncertain now that it looked like Dean might agree than he had earlier trying to talk him into it. "Um, well..."

"Yeah. This is a great idea."

"What the hell do you want from me, Dean? This isn't exactly something I do everyday! I think the idea is that we do whatever we want. No pressure, no expectations."

"So if I wanted to kiss you, that would be fine? With Jess too?"

Sam nodded a bit hesitantly.

Dean sighed. "Sam--"

"Shut up." Sam switched beds so he was sitting beside his brother. Dean looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"You aren't exactly filling me with a sense of confidence and your overwhelming commitment to this plan," Sam pointed out.

"I don't recall having agreed to anything yet, Sam. And is there something wrong with your bed that you suddenly needed to sit on mine?"

"I couldn't reach you from over there." He rested one hand on Dean's knee. It felt awkward with Dean sitting so rigidly still, so he let go, then huffed in exasperation. "This shouldn't be so damn hard!"

"You're wrong, Sam. 'This,' whatever 'this' is, should be incredibly hard. It shouldn't even freaking exist!" He flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes. "You and Jess, that you guys even discussed this for me, well --it's weird as hell, Sam," he grinned, eyes still closed, "but kinda awesome too."

Sam shifted on the bed.

"Is that a no?"

"It's a 'thanks for the offer, but maybe you can find something less screwed up to do with your lives.' I mean it, S--" Dean voice choked off in shock as warm lips covered his own in a tentative kiss. He shoved back hard and sat up. "What the fuck?!"

Sam sat back up on the bed from where he had fallen at Dean's push. "I told you about trying to make our decisions for us, and if that's the only objection you have, then I'm going to read that as a yes, Dean. And if your answer is yes, well, I just wanted to see what it was like."

"What what was like? Kissing me?! We did that in Tennessee."

Sam glared. "That wasn't a kiss anymore than this was."

"What the hell would you have called them, then?"

"Expressions of your being a jackass."

"Yeah, I'm feeling the romantic vibes just rolling off of you now."

Sam slumped his shoulders and rested his elbows on his knees. "I wasn't trying for romantic, Dean. I'm still working my head around the idea of that and you in the same sentence, I just ...wanted to kiss you."

He stood up. "I'm going to go see if they have any coffee in the office. You want some if they do?"

Dean nodded mutely, watching thoughtfully as Sam left.

 

~~~~~~~

When Sam walked back in a good thirty minutes later, his hands were empty and his cheeks and nose were reddened from the cold. Dean had seen glimpses of him through the curtains and knew he had been pacing in the parking lot.

"They didn't have any coff--" was as far as he got before Dean grabbed him and pressed his back against the door.

"Did you really want to kiss me, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I did, but--"

He didn't get to finish before Dean's mouth was on him. Sam's first instinct was to shove him off. Sam really wasn't appreciating the feeling of being trapped, and the body pressing against his was all the wrong shape, and he didn't like being grabbed without warning ...but the scent was Dean and it sent something warm curling through his belly to be touching him like this, and the lips pressed to his own were soft and warm... Sam gasped for air when Dean finally let up, sliding his lips away from Sam's mouth and down his jaw line to his throat, nuzzling in under his ear and sucking lightly at the skin there.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean murmured, still holding him in place.

Sam nodded, and Dean stepped back. Leaving Sam just standing there, staring at him.

Dean was looking at anything but his brother, giving him time to regain his balance.

"Dean?" Sam finally asked.

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean yes then?"

"If you and Jess are sure, really really sure about this ...then yeah, why not?"

Sam was pretty sure that given even five minutes, he would be able to come up with entire lists of "why not," but that time had passed last night.

"Good, then."

An awkward silence filled the room.

Neither one of them thought it was time to do any more experimentation. Dean was still sure that any minute Sam was going to come to his sense and run screaming into the street, and Sam was still in shock at how fast and easily his body had melted into his brother's; like once his brain had kicked over from "male" to "Dean" it had been all systems go, and damn the details.

"So," Dean finally offered brightly, "I have cards."

"Cards sound good."

"When is Jess due back with lunch? I'm starving."

"Yeah, hashing out relationships is hungry work," Sam commented dryly.

Dean gave him a wounded look as he fished the battered deck from his duffle bag. "Dude, this is more chick crap we've done this morning than I think I've done in the last ten years. I deserve cheeseburgers."

Sam snorted. "Then you should have put in an order before she left. Jess is a big believer in the veggie wrap as a source of pure goodness in the universe, and I'm pretty sure she had her eye on a source from her last food run."

Sam let Dean's horrified expression cheer him up as he pulled a chair up to the table and indicated Dean should deal.

  
** Chapter Twenty-Six **

"What we call reality is an agreement that  
people have arrived at to make life more livable."  
                                    -Louise Nevelson

"So. How did it go?" Jess asked as soon as she had Sam alone, Dean having been sent out on the pretext of a drink run from the main office where they sold sodas out of a cooler instead of having a machine.

"About as well as can be expected."

"So he's in?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Please. Your lips are swollen and I didn't put that hicky under your ear."

Sam's hand flew to his neck and he knew his face was turning red. "Are you still okay with this?"

Jess shrugged. "I already said yes and told you to ask him, Sam. It would be a little cruel of me to back out now, don't you think?"

"But do you want to back out, Jess? I was serious when I said you don't come second in this."

"I know you were, Sam. And no, I don't really --just the nervousness of trying anything new and life altering."

"I don't recall a lot of nervousness when you were upending our lives in Palo Alto and setting us off for a year long trip around the country."

"You didn't notice because you were too busy being a stressed out angst-muffin."

"A what?" he asked, laughing.

"Angst-muffin. I assure you it is legitimate terminology to describe your general demeanor during that whole time period."

Dean opened the door and walked in, his arms full of sodas. "I could hear you laughing two doors down. What's up?"

"Nothing," Jess told him, taking some of the drinks and setting them on the table. "I was just telling Sam how in some parts of the world it's totally natural for a woman to have multiple husbands."

"Brothers?"

"Why not?" Jess shrugged. "It's not like you're having kids together." Sam choked on the soda he was trying to drink and Dean gave Jess an appreciative half-smile.

"So, just to make sure that we all have the same understanding about this brave new adventure we have apparently embarked on --one of you want to detail how this is supposed to work?"

Neither one of the guys looked in a hurry to volunteer, Jess rolled her eyes. "How do you guys expect the three of us to have this kind of relationship if we can't even discuss this kind of relationship?"

Sam looked a little guilty, Dean just looked stubborn.

"Fine. I'll go --"

"No, I'll do it." Sam broke in. "I talked to both of you, so I'll spell it out. It's, um, an exclusive dating relationship between the three of us, instead of just Jess and me. No one has to do anything they don't want to, no pressure on anyone --but if you do want to, that's okay. It's the three of us, together."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you and Jess don't really have a dating relationship, I thought you guys had an engagement?"

"We do," Jess flicked an ice chip from her can in his direction, "but you're getting an invitation to stand at the altar with us. Want to wear the white dress?"

His brother cut in before Dean could give her the response Sam could see on his lips, "This is very serious, Dean. We're all in if you are."

"And what if it doesn't work out? What if I'm breaking you guys up?"

"You aren't going to break us up, but if we start having problems, we will sit down and talk them out like adults. You'd be amazed how many things you can resolve by opening your mouth." He deliberately didn't look at Jess to see if she was remembering the career debacle they had hashed out right before hitting the road all those months ago. "And if you decide you want to leave us ...that's your call."

"Yeah," Jess spoke up, "I've stuck it out with Sam through visions, public humiliation, near abandonment, almost getting killed by a ghost twice, and being dragged through more weird, creepy, and just impossible stuff than I could have previously imagined. And that was all before almost freezing to death in the forest and having a cave fall in on my head. There isn't anything you are going to do that's going to split us up."

She rummaged in the bag to find her food. "But that's another thing to mention. I can see where there might be some chances for hurt feelings and stuff as we start exploring this relationship, so anyone feeling that needs to just tell the other people. That's where things are going to really start falling apart, if that sort of resentment gets a chance to smolder."

"Dude, I'm all about a relationship with sex, but I'm not so sure about one where you want me to give status updates on my feelings."

She flicked another ice chip at him. "Maybe you can write them on little pieces of paper and stick them in someone's pocket," she suggested dryly, "but if someone gets hurt because you couldn't bring your manly self to open your mouth and tell us about a problem, believe that I will kick your ass."

Dean met her direct gaze with an appraising look. There was no question between them who that someone she didn't want hurt was. He nodded slightly and she turned her attention back to opening her sandwich.

"Okay, then," Sam cleared his throat. "Now that that's all settled," he ignored Jess's snort and Dean's eye roll, "anyone know what we need to do next?"

"I do," Dean said seriously. "We have to go talk to Frank Black about his daughter."

 

  


  
** Chapter Twenty-Seven **

  
The car has become a secular sanctuary for the  
individual, his shrine to the self, his mobile Walden Pond.  
                                    -Edward McDonagh

Bobby had turned up bust on getting a number for Frank Black, so they had no choice but to show up unannounced.

The road trip had been stressful for Sam, Jess having insisted on riding with Dean. Dean had managed to shake off his fever and come out of the entire frozen forest mess without anything worse than a runny nose and some mild coughing --to Sam and Jess's endless disgust.

Sam, driving behind them, had half expected to see the Impala go swerving off into a ditch at any moment and was prepared to possibly leap out and break up a fight. Both Jess and Dean were of the somewhat volatile sort and the situation was already stressed, between the events and potentially life-changing agreements of the last couple of days, and the fact that they were on their way to inform a man about his daughter's death. Sam would have preferred to keep a buffer between them, at least until they had some down-time to get a little more used to each other.

But a few hours later, when they stopped at a gas station, things had seemed calm enough. Jess sitting in the passenger seat, flipping through an atlas, while Dean stood across the pump from Sam, filling the Impala's tank up. Dean seemed lost in thought, not volunteering any information about how the trip was going.

"Everything okay?" Sam finally tried.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. "With what?"

"You know, the trip," Sam nodded towards the car.

"You mean have Jess and I tried to kill each other yet?" Dean interpreted. "I have to ask you, Sam, how do you expect this to work out between us if you don't even trust us alone in the car for a few hours?"

"I trust you both fine," Sam muttered, "I just don't want you to get off on the wrong foot when things are such a mess right now and you haven't had a chance to get to know each other. This situation sucks, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, "but Jess and I are doing fine. She's a smart girl, and we both have plenty of incentive to make this work out."

Sam nodded, unconvinced, but resigned.

"It helps that she's smokin' hot."

"Dean!"

"What, Sam? It's not exactly a subtle sort of thing. And I thought I was allowed to talk about things like that now."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam squirmed mentally, "but maybe ...not so loud."

Dean's expression was pure amusement as he finished filling up the car and re-hung the nozzle.

"See you at the next stop, Sammy."

Sam's face twisted in irritation, but Dean closed the door before he could protest the nickname.

 

~~~~~~~

"What was that all about?" Jess asked as Dean pulled back out onto the highway.

"Sam being Sam," Dean said dryly, "he seemed concerned we might not be getting along very well."

Jess nodded and looked back down at her maps. "Better than being concerned we are getting along too well, I suppose."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just, you know, the whole learning-to-share process." She shrugged. "You know Sam, and I know Sam, and he certainly knows both of us, but we don't know each other. This relationship isn't going to work well like this. You and I need to get to know each other very well, and we need to be able to do it without Sam being jealous of it. I'm willing to work to have a real threesome sort of deal here, where we are all equals and with each other, but I'm not willing to have a relationship that's you-and-Sam, and me-and-Sam, and we just trade him off between us in the middle."

"Like having two bedrooms and we flip a coin to see where he sleeps?"

"Exactly. I'm not doing that."

"What's your vision like then?"

"We each have our own spaces, but we share the bedroom all together."

"So …we can't just fool around in pairs?" Dean asked skeptically.

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that if you and I want to share a shower or 'fool around,' Sam needs to be as okay with that as he's asking me to be about you and him."

"Is that something you see yourself wanting to do?"

"Have sex with you one-on-one? I'd like to get to know you a little better before I start asking you to help me get my bra unhooked, but I'm not opposed to the idea. I certainly don't see this working any other way."

Dean nodded.

Jess hesitated for a moment. "What about you?"

"I have to be honest, you being Sam's fiancée is giving me more problems in my head than Sam being my brother is --which I find entirely disturbing-- but you're hot, you're smart, you kiss like it's a competitive sport, and we have one really big thing in  
common--"

"…We both want what's best for Sam," Jessica finished.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "So you guys keep telling me it's okay, and I'll work around to the rest."

Jess suddenly grinned. "Just based on the stories Sam tells, it never sounded like 'smart' was exactly something you look for in a girl."

Dean smirked. "You don't need smarts for the kind of fun most of those girls and I were getting into. I wasn't asking them to help me win a science prize, just keep me company for a few hours …or minutes."

Jess snorted.

Dean's expression grew more serious, "But for a serious thing --something that could hurt Sam this bad? When we are talking about maybe a permanent sort of arrangement? Yeah, you bet your ass I want a girl with smarts."

"More than you want one with curvy hips, a nice rack, and legs up to her armpits?" Jess asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I want Sam to be happy, I want …I want this thing we've all concocted to work."

"Though, since you asked," Dean added a moment later, "do you know where I can find one of those?"

Jess smacked him with the atlas.

 

~~~~~~~

"What the hell have you people done to this car?!"

"Can you fix it, or not?"

"Yeah, and I can also sneeze sunshine and crap--"

"I take it that's a 'no', then?" Jess cut in.

"I didn't think you could drive a car in this kind of shape!"

"It's a 'no,'" Sam told her while they watched Dean duck back under the hood, cursing.

"It's not a 'no!' I could totally fix this, piece of junk that it is --I just can't fix it without a few days and a shitload of parts."

"How many parts is that exactly?" Jess asked innocently.

Dean glowered at her and scratched at his cheek, smearing grease across his winter pale skin, which neither Sam nor Jess, after a quick glance at each other, felt the need to tell him about.

"We're on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. We can probably take the time, but are we going to have it towed somewhere? Where are you going to be able to work on it?" Sam wondered.

Jess frowned. "And how much is this going to cost? We have funds, but they aren't limitless."

Dean looked at them speculatively, then wiped his fingers off and dropped the battered hood down. "How attached are you to this car?"

"It came third-hand down from my great Aunt Mildred who used it to ferry her five leaky dogs to the pet-sitter every day for fifteen years."

"So --what? Sentimental value?"

Jess stared at him.

"We're not attached to the car, Dean. What did you have in mind?" Sam huffed on his fingers for warmth then jammed his hands back into his coat pockets.

Dean shrugged. "Not sure yet. Why don't you guys get all your stuff out of it and toss it in the Impala. We'll find someplace to shack up for the night, and I'll make some calls."

 

~~~~~~~

"He's been out there with the cell phone for almost an hour now. Is he ever coming to bed?"

Jess had made the room reservation, and as a result the three of them were sharing one with a king bed. No one had said a word directly about it, though there had been a few skeptical glances at the size of the mattress as compared to the size of the people expected to sleep together on it.

In deference to the uncertainty of the new situation, both Sam and Jess were wearing more to bed than they usually bothered with. Sharing the bed was new enough. Sharing it naked would be a different sort of step, one which they were hesitant to take.

About the same time Sam and Jess had decided it was bedtime, Dean had received a phone call and slipped back out the door. They could still hear his voice rising and falling through the glass, though the words were indistinct, and his shadow through the window was illuminated by sodium lights outside. He had also had a long phone conversation when they had first stopped for the night, before Jess had chased him off to go bring back dinner. None of them had felt like facing other people even to the extent of going to a diner, so more take-out it was.

Sam shrugged from where he was sprawled out across half the mattress. "He'll come in when he's done."

"I don't want him working on the car. It's cold and wet outside and will probably be that way for months. He's already getting over being sick, and I'd think we would all prefer it not turn into pneumonia. I'd rather pay for the labor and keep him out of the weather."

"I'm not sure the idea of paying someone else to work on a car won't be just as bad for his health." Sam rolled onto his stomach and threw his arm over the middle pillow.

"I can see you're really waiting in agony for him over there." She commented dryly from the edge of the bed, where she sat with her arms around her knees, back resting against the headboard, looking out the window watching Dean's shadow pass back and forth.

Sam gave her a sleepy smile. "I'm keeping it warm."

At just that moment the door opened and Dean sauntered in with a supremely self-satisfied look on his face.

"What's up?" Jess asked.

"Not much, took some wrangling, but I got you about a grand for that piece of crap you've been driving."

Jessica blinked. "My car? You sold my car?"

"Hey! It's not like it was going anywhere fast ...or at all," he pointed out.

"This might have escaped your attention, Dean, but I'm not exactly rolling in the kind of funds it would take to just walk out and buy a new car. Not without making some severe inroads into the money that's letting us live this life of luxury" she ground out.

"You've been the one who's all, 'Let's be together,' and 'Yay! team spirit.' I just figured --you know, if we're going to be together and travelling all over the country, we don't need two cars anyway. Keeping one gassed up is bad enough."

"And you just decided this without talking to me at all?"

"It wasn't exactly the plan," he snapped. "I was looking for parts and a yard that would rent me some space. Do you have any idea how much it would have cost to get that thing running again? Even just long enough to get it to Bobby's? You could probably buy a new used car for that. I had the guy on the phone, he said he needed a yes or no, and he needed it right then. Some project of his kids' that your piece of junk is perfect for." Dean shrugged. "You want me to call him back?"

She looked at him helplessly.

Sam sat up and checked the alarm clock by the bed. "What about transferring the title and stuff? Do we need to work this out tonight?"

"He's only going to use it for parts. Don't need to worry too much about a title or anything. And he said we can pick up the cash at that diner we passed in the morning. I figure we can eat breakfast on our way out of town and handle whatever we need to on the business end then. Problem solved."

"Sorta," Jess grumbled.

"Hey, I thought the best deal he would give me was an offer to haul it off the road in exchange for scrapping it. A thousand bucks? His son must really love whatever he's trying to fix up with parts from that heap you've been limping around in." He narrowed his eyes at his brother. "And don't think I didn't see you laying all over my pillow, Sam. I swear to God, if you drooled on it, I'm going to make you eat it."

Sam obediently scooted back into the middle and away from the pillow in question.

Dean grumbled a little more and went into the bathroom to make his own preparations for bed.

When he emerged a few minutes later he gave Jess and Sam a critical look. "Do you guys usually keep a whole extra wardrobe on hand for bedtime? Because I have to say, this looks more like a slumber party than an exciting new adventure in dating."

"I tried to get Sam to wear the negligee," Jess offered promptly, "but it really wasn't his color, and after he tried it on, it didn't fit me anymore."

"Jess!"

She grinned down at Sam where he was struggling back into a sitting position.

Sam scowled at her, then gave Dean an equally accusing look, "And don't you even start! You don't sleep naked either. Dad ran too many middle-of-the night drills for either of us to want to risk be caught without pants on a regular basis."

Dean shrugged and pulled his t-shirt off, making sure to drag it out enough to give both the people on the bed ample time to admire his rock-hard abs and general build. Even underweight, scarred, and liberally decorated with bruises in various states of healing, it was an impressive sight and Jess made a definite sound of appreciation.

Sam rolled his eyes, and then looked confused when Dean just stood there in his boxers with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at them.

"What?"

"I'm not suggesting we go digging around for lube and break out the handcuffs tonight, but I think a little less of a dress code wouldn't be completely out of place."

Sam felt a blush burn over his cheekbones at Dean's mention of handcuffs and lube, and knew damn well Jess and Dean could see it, which made him blush even harder. He was totally happy to contemplate both of those items, and frequently had -- in connection with Jess. Adding Dean to the visual they produced, and doing it with Dean staring at him -- well, that was new territory, and not something he was entirely comfortable with yet.

Jess was watching him with an amused expression when he dared look back up, but she didn't say anything. Instead she gave a sort of shrug and then grabbed the hem of her own t-shirt, peeling it up in one smooth motion and tossing it onto the floor. She moved like she wanted to cross her arms over her naked chest, but after a moment deliberately relaxed back against the headboard. The look she gave Dean was pure challenge.

Dean gave her a lingering look of assessment and grinned. "I'm rethinking the sleeping arrangements, Sam. I vote Jess gets the middle, she looks entirely more fun to cuddle up to."

Sam snorted and pulled his own shirt off, leaving him in his sweats. "Only if you volunteer to be kneed and elbowed all night."

"I'm not sleeping well lately," Jess offered when Dean looked confused. "Sam's used to it."

"Whatever," Dean shrugged and flipped the switch for the light hanging over the small table, leaving the bedside lamp on his side the only illumination in the room.

Then Sam scooted back down flat and Jess slid down beside him to rest propped up on her elbow.

The mattress sank under Dean's weight as he sat down next to Sam and swung his legs up.

"You going to get the light?" Jess asked.

"In a minute," Dean muttered, looking down at Sam.

Sam went completely still at the serious look in his brother's eyes, and tensed a moment later when Dean's warm hand slid hesitantly over the skin of his stomach just above his belly button.

Dean felt the tension, and a look of uncertainly crossed his face. Before he could pull his hand back, a considerably smaller one slid over his, holding him in place, and brushed a thumb against his wrist.

Sam let his breath out and forced himself to relax under his brother's hand.

Jess scooted up a bit and leaned into him, so that her breasts pressed against his side and her hair draped over his shoulder. The boxers she was wearing were Sam's again, and in scooting up the bed, they had slid down enough to show the smooth pale skin at the flare of her hip. It caught Dean's eye for a moment, and he looked up to catch her gaze. "I've got his mouth; why don't you feel free to explore the rest?" she suggested steadily, squeezing his hand briefly, then letting go to turn her full attention back to Sam. She caught his lips with hers before he could say anything about her suggestion, and for a few moments he forgot about the novel nature of the entire situation.

Dean waited until Sam was distracted before he moved again. It was easier without Sam's attention focused on him, and watching Jess make a leisurely and thorough exploration of his mouth was certainly a reward in its own right. He leaned down and licked a broad stripe across his brother's stomach just above where the line of his sweatpants rode low on his hips. He felt Sam startle under his mouth and bit lightly at the soft skin before turning his head to meet his brother's eyes. Sam's pupils were dilated with pleasure and he watched Dean for a moment before he moved to catch Jess's mouth again.

Dean had wondered for almost ten years what Sam's skin would taste like, what kind of sounds his brother would make while he licked and nibbled his way across his belly and up towards his chest. He now had ample opportunity to indulge his curiosity, and found the reality wildly more satisfactory than even his most creative imaginings. Then, since he had leaned so far in that he was in easy reach of Jess at that point, he leaned that little bit more and swiped his tongue across her breast. When she gasped at the unexpectedness of the sensation and pulled back from Sam, Dean took the opportunity to steal Sam's mouth for himself. He felt more than heard her huff of amusement through the blood pounding in his ears --what little wasn't rushing south, and he felt one of Sam's arms wrap around his back to hold him in place while he let the desperation of his kiss speak his gratitude at being given the chance to be here, with them, in this place and time.

There wasn't the awkwardness of their attempt at intimacy in Townsend, or the angry viciousness of the kiss in Cookeville, but rather a sweet coming together that was all Dean could have imagined. Love, acceptance, passion. Sam was entirely enthusiastic, and in a moment Dean found himself flipped onto his back so that Sam could get a better angle on him. He felt the further evidence of Sam's enjoyment pressed against his leg, and wiggled into a position where he could press back against his brother's body and try to get some relief from the pressure in his groin.

Suddenly Sam let him go and flung one of his arms out.

Dean turned his head to follow the movement and saw that his brother had Jess by the bicep, she looked like she had been sliding off the bed.

"You're leaving?!" Dean asked incredulously, voice rough with emotion.

"I just..." She licked her lips and tried again. "It's the first time, for you guys --I thought you might want some privacy. I don't mi--"

"No," Sam cut her off. "Together."

Dean nodded and reached his own hand out. "Come back here."

She crawled willingly back across the mattress and pressed herself tightly to Dean's side. "As long as you guys don't let me interrupt. If I'm staying, I definitely want to enjoy the whole show."

"Never an interruption," Sam mumbled, already seeking Dean's mouth again.

In a moment Dean forgot all about the break in momentum. Sam's lips were hard and demanding against his own, and Jess was a warm silken weight against his side, the fingers she trailed over his skin adding to the sensations wracking his senses.

"Jesus, Sammy," he groaned into Sam's mouth, grinding against him again seeking relief.

Sam pulled his mouth away, burying his face in Dean's shoulder, panting his brother's name.

Dean slid one hand down between their bodies, slipping his hand under the waist of Sam's sweatpants and down until he could wrap his fingers around the thick erection pressing against his belly, while he rocked his own hips against Sam's firm thigh.

Sam gasped and came as soon as Dean touched him, letting his overheated body slump down onto Dean as his orgasm washed over him, Jess's hand running up his back a distant counterpart to the pleasure.

"Kinda quick on the draw there, Sam," Dean panted, pulling his sticky fingers back and wiping them off on Sam's pants, not breaking his rhythm until his own release spilled out against his fever-hot skin.

"Bite me," Sam suggested faintly into Dean's sweat-slicked collarbone.

Dean heard a soft gasp from beside them and felt Jess tense up. He turned just in time to see her slide one hand out from beneath the waistband of the boxers she was only barely still wearing, body as flushed and sweaty as theirs. He leaned into kiss her enthusiastically through the fading rush of her orgasm.

"Jess--" Sam began from where he had half pushed himself up to see her, a hint of apology in his voice.

"Don't even start!" she exclaimed when Dean pulled back to let her breath. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen, I've never come that fast in my life. I can't wait to find out what happens when we actually get naked."

"Glad we could be of service," Dean said dryly, easing onto his back again and running the fingers of one hand through Sam's sweaty hair.

"Oh, I wouldn't say you were of service yet, but I definitely have high expectations for the future."

"Does anyone mind if we just lie here for a few minutes?" Sam cut in before Dean could retort.

Wordless head-shaking answered him, and they lay there for a few minutes, just letting the magnitude of what had happened sink in.

 

~~~~~~~

"Wow," Jess said finally.

"I just want to know who's going to get some washcloths, because I'm not sure I can move," Dean replied, not so much as twitching a finger where he lay sprawled, one leg and an arm draped over his brother.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that's you, Mr. I-don't-like-your-pajamas. You started this. And don't talk to me about being able to walk. I'm not even sure I have bones anymore."

"I'm in the middle," Sam mumbled, "If I get up one of you has to move anyways."

No one stirred for a few minutes, until finally Sam heaved Dean off and sat up. "Never mind, I'm getting up, there isn't anything you can do with a washcloth that's going to make me sleep in these pants. One of you move."

Jess gave a greatly exaggerated sigh and swung her legs off the bed, sitting to give Sam room to get up. "I don't know why I'm moving. Aren't you going to change, Dean?"

"Now that you're up? Sure."

Jess glared at him, scooting over while Sam slid past her off the bed and headed for the bathroom. But she couldn't maintain her ire through the languid hints of pleasure that still weighted her body and the teasing smile on Dean's face where he lay curled against the tangled sheets, watching her.

"What are we going to do about the wet spot --spots?" she asked, amending the question after glancing down at the mattress.

Dean shrugged, turning it into a stretch. "Toss the bottom sheet in the floor, lay down some towels, stretch the top sheet over it and sleep under the comforter," he offered.

"Have a lot of experience with this, do you?" she asked dryly.

"With sex in motel rooms? Sure." He caught her eyes and she was surprised by how serious he looked. "With this? Never."

She nodded thoughtfully, then stood to help him make the bed back up for sleeping.

 

~~~~~~~

By the time Sam left the bathroom a few minutes later, the bed was neatly remade and Dean and Jess were curled up together, half-asleep after a hasty clean-up at the sink.

He smiled sleepily at them, heart full in a way he had never experienced before. Then he collapsed onto the mattress on Jess's other side and was asleep in seconds.

  
Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Bob Bletcher:** This Millennium Group - They really  
believe all that stuff - Nostradamus and Revelations,  
the destruction of the world?  
**Frank Black:** They believe we can't just sit back  
and hope for a happy ending.  
                                    -Millennium

 

Piling everyone into the Impala was an interesting experience the next day.

Dean had muttered something under his breath at the casual suggestion that Jess was looking forward to taking his baby out for a spin sometime, but had looked marginally mollified when she followed that up immediately with a sarcastic comment how much fun she expected to get from the complete drivers ed course she anticipated Dean putting her through before he let her so much as breathe on the Impala's steering wheel.

No one mentioned the events of the night before. But a lot of the awkwardness that had been underlying their interactions seemed to have evaporated, and a communal sense of intimacy had taken its place.

Everyone was fairly quiet during the drive out to Frank Black's house.

Dean had offered Sam the keys when they walked out in the morning, and immediately followed it up with some fairly graphic threats about what he was going to do if Sam failed to live up to Dean's expectations of his driving ability as a Winchester.

From the size of the smile on Sam's face as he slid behind the wheel, he had received the underlying message loud and clear.

Jess curled willingly enough up the backseat with a map, a paperback, and a pointed warning not to expect she would always ride in the back, and she didn't want to hear about how long anyone's legs were.

No one really felt the need to talk during the trip. A lot had happened in the last few days, and everyone still had digesting to do. They were easy in each other's company, and even the Metallica coming through the speakers did nothing to break the sense of connection that hung in the close atmosphere.

Connection, and a certain amount of tension at the thought of the upcoming conversation. Dean in particular seemed anxious about that, picking at a worn spot on his jeans or drumming fingers out of synch to the music while the miles ticked by.

The canopy of brilliant fall leaves and the glossy green underbrush that had surrounded Frank Black's house during their last visit had been left barren by winter. The stark branches and cold snowy ground seemed silent omens of grief as the three of them walked to the door.

"What if he's not home?"

Dean shrugged at Jessica's question. "Then we find a place to hole up and try again later. The driveway's been cleared. He hasn't gone anywhere far."

But he was home. The door opened as Sam lifted his hand to try the doorbell again

Frank didn't appear surprised to see them.

"I see you've found your brother. I suppose it's too much to expect that you've just come as a social call?"

Sam shook his head. "Not really. Can we come in?"

Frank didn't reply, but stepped back, leaving the entry clear. They kicked boots free of snow and went back towards the kitchen where Sam and Jess had sat the first time.

Once everyone was in the room and seated, Sam looked around nervously, but neither Jess or Dean seemed inclined to talk.

Frank's expression was unreadable.

"Well, um, there really isn't any good way to say this --there was a cave-in out in the woods down south of here. Jordan ...she didn't make it. I'm so sorry, Mr. Black."

"She saved Dean's life," Jessica added quietly. "That probably doesn't really help, but she could have made it, and she chose to risk herself for him. She was incredibly brave."

Frank's face was still impassive, but he rose and walked over to a small table where some mail was lying. He lifted a long envelope off the top and slid a folded piece of paper out, then slid it across the table towards them.

"There's no address, no name."

Dean picked up the paper. On it was a finished version of the angel that had been lying half-completed on Jordan's desk back in Franklin.

Jess walked around the table to pick up the envelope. "The postmark is two days ago from Townsend."

"It's her," Dean said laying the drawing back down on the table like it was something fragile.

"That isn't possible." Sam said flatly.

"I choose to believe it is," Frank said.

"I saw the roof fall on her! She couldn't have survived that, no one could!"

Jess laid a calming hand on Sam's arm. "We knew there were more ways out of the cave from the way the air was flowing. Maybe she was able to crawl back further into that drop-off and found a way out."

"Then made her way out of the forest? Miles and miles from nowhere, in the freezing cold and snow, soaking wet and without any kind of equipment?" Sam demanded. "I didn't think we were going to make it, and we had supplies and shelter!"

He turned to Frank as if suddenly realizing this was maybe not the most considerate argument to be having in front of the father of the woman under discussion, "I'm sorry, but it just isn't possible. Maybe someone else had that drawing and dropped it in the mailbox --there is no way Jordan survived the cave-in."

Frank settled into a chair and laid both hands fingers spread on the table, meeting Sam's bewildered gaze. "I have found that my understanding of what's possible has changed greatly over the course of my life." Seeing only confusion on the faces of his guests, Frank settled back and continued on.

"Throughout my career, whenever I thought I had found a new depth to the horror and the pain one person can inflict upon another, to the nightmare that humanity can become, I was always to be shown that there were greater depths still. Greater tragedies, losses." He spoke distantly, gazing at the center of the table. "It damaged me in ways that caused pain to those I loved, and who loved me. There was no wonder, no miracle, in what I saw. Just darkness, evil. I felt alone in my gift, isolated from my colleagues and from my family. I became associated with an organization that, despite what differences we have now, did me the great favor of exposing me to a greater vision of what was possible in the world. To others who also had unique ways of viewing things, to cases where the mystery was not always cruelty and pain, but sometimes also hope, and wonder. Sometimes all of them together."

"This organization, the Millennium Group?"

Frank nodded at Sam's question. "My daughter was two when I first suspected she was gifted in the sense that I was gifted. All children play make-believe games, but Jordan's games were …particularly detailed for her age. Catherine, my wife, was a child psychologist. I know that some of the things Jordan came up with disturbed her. Realizing what it might mean for Jordan, her future and her happiness ...it was the worst day of my life. But as she grew up, I realized her gift was different. Where mine crippled me, I thought it was possible maybe hers could be an asset to her life; or at least not an unimaginable cruelty."

"When we were here before, you said you had known others with her gift?" Jess asked.

"Yes. It's hard to say any two gifts are alike, they exist entirely in the mind of the individual and all seem different in some respects. But the outward signs seem similar --the visions, the drawings. My mother, and one of my associates in the Group, as well as my daughter, all experienced these things. My mother seemed to take some solace in what she saw. It let her make her goodbyes and die in the manner that she wished. I didn't understand for many years, but having spoken with my father in the year before his death, I am not at all certain that given the choice my mother would have chosen to live without her visions."

He paused, but no one spoke up, so he went on.

"My associate was a different case. She was ostracized by her family and community for what she saw, treated with fear and suspicion. Her visions were a source of both comfort and torment for her. She didn't seem to have the same need to express her gift through art that the others did, or maybe it was just that she kept what she created to herself. I know that she would have given anything to live a life free of them. But that isn't a choice, and given their two experiences as guides, I wanted to be able to raise Jordan not to fear what was within her. To accept herself, to be able to function in the world on her own terms. I thought that with my own history and understanding, I could guide her into a life where she was at peace with herself."

"She seemed to have friends, and a life. To be well thought of in her community. People said she was happy," Jess offered.

"Yes." Frank smiled, it was shadowed with sadness. "But my success made it hard for us to spend much time with each other. I love my daughter; there isn't anything that I wouldn't do for her. But she is walking a road that I cannot see. I have faith that she is doing with her life as she sees fit. And live or die, the choices she makes are her own. We raise our children to leave us, to be strong enough to live their own lives, and by all accounts Jordan is a success."

He reached out and touched the drawing with two fingers, focusing everyone's attention back on it. "This is a message."

"That she's still alive?" Jess asked.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps just a reminder."

"A reminder of what?" Dean finally spoke, sounding subdued. Sam had been glaring at him steadily for the last few minutes of Frank's dialogue, and Dean had visibly wilted under the look.

But Frank ignored the question, his intense gaze falling on Dean. He refolded the drawing and slid it back into its envelope, then extending it in offering. "Take it."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's for you."

"Are you certain?"

Dean froze. Frank laid the envelope on the table and stood. "Jordan left some things here last time she was home. I think she would like you to have them. Wait here a moment."

The instant Frank left the room Sam exploded. "Visions?!" What visions is he talking about Dean?! You said you had some low-key compulsion to draw angels --you never mentioned anything about visions!"

Jess's eyes also narrowed and she turned in her chair to face Dean directly. "Are these visions like Sam's where you fall over writhing with no warning and see things in the future, visions like Frank's that apparently made his life a living hell and helped him hunt serial killers, or some entirely new horror that you would like to spell out for us?"

"It's not," Dean huffed exasperated, "exactly like that."

"What's it like then? Exactly?" Jess asked sharply.

Sam had a different question. "How long?" he asked in a low voice.

"How long what?"

"How long have you had these visions? A month? A year? Were you having them back when I was a teenage freak thinking the entire fucking world was normal except me?!"

"No, Sam! It's only been about …maybe two years. Maybe a little less." Dean scowled. "And I never treated you like a freak. I wouldn't have let anybody do that to you."

"I'm all for family bonding, guys, but --visions?"

Dean looked uneasy. "They aren't like what Sam has, I don't really see things. I mean, I do, but it's kind of an indistinct figure. And I get premonitions. Like if people are going to die. Sometimes other things."

Jessica frowned. "Let me get this straight, you see angels, and they tell you people are going to die? Are these people you can save?"

"Not so far." The misery in Dean's voice at that was obvious.

"And then you feel inspired to draw them?" She asked, baffled. "Are you sure these are angels?"

"How the hell would I know? I've never met an angel!"

"Then why do you draw them?"

"It just …feels right."

Jess raised a skeptical brow.

Sam still looked furious, but also baffled.

"You can't understand." Dean snapped.

"No one can," Frank said quietly, reentering the room carrying what looked like a sketch pad and a small plastic case. "No one can who doesn't see like you do."

Sam turned his attention to Frank. "But I was born this way, and you said your daughter and your associate both had gifts from the time they were young. But Dean …he says this just happened two years ago!"

"My mother was an adult before she started drawing. I never had the chance to ask her what she saw, or when the visions started. It wasn't a subject my father was comfortable with, so by the time I was able to ask the questions, any chance of an answer had passed." He handed the sketch pad and box to Dean. "Take these. Please."

Dean was reluctant. "These are Jordan's --you said you don't think she's dead."

"I choose to believe that she's not. That doesn't mean she will ever come back to me. Not in a way that I recognize. Please."

Dean took the art supplies. As soon as his hands were free, Frank picked the envelope back up and extended it again. Dean stared at it, then took it and tucked it into the sketch pad.

Frank nodded. "Your advantage is that you have people who care for you and carry their own burdens, that will help them make adjustments for yours."

Dean swallowed. "Why me?"

"Why anyone?" Frank stood by the door, a polite indication that it was time to leave.

"Mr. Black," Jessica stood and hooked one of her arms through Dean's. "Thank you for talking to us. I'm so terribly sorry about your daughter. I hope you're right. I hope she is alive out there somewhere, and that she comes home soon."

Dean and Sam nodded in agreement.

"Thank you. And thank you for coming to tell me."

Jess was steering Dean down the hallway towards the door while Sam tugged his coat on in the kitchen. "I have one last question, Mr. Black. When I tried to tell the local cops about the cave-in, they insisted there was no cave. That it was an urban myth. Do you know anything about it? Jordan …she led us straight to it in the dark."

Frank shook his head and followed Sam into the hallway. "There are places in the world where the barriers seem thinner. Where if you shout loudly enough, it feels like something could listen. Sometimes these places are well hidden; sometimes they hide in plain sight."

Sam remembered the timeless grace of the carvings on the walls: "prayers", Jordan had said. He remembered both Jessica and Dean insisting they heard voices whispering to them from the darkness where the lights didn't reach. He swallowed hard.

"Barriers between what? What somethings?"

"I don't have those answers."

They caught up to Jess and Dean, and Frank opened the door for them. They headed to the car, but as Sam was walking by Frank grabbed his arm. "You need to be careful, Sam. You and your brother."

Bobby's warnings about speaking with Black resounded in his mind. "The Millennium Group?" Sam guessed.

"Yes. The Group prefers professionals with skills they can use, but your gifts would probably make you eligible for their attention regardless."

"You aren't the first person to warn me about them."

"They can and will offer you a greater understanding of yourself, your talents. But the price of their help is …incalculable. Think very carefully before you accept anything from them."

"Are they," Sam looked for a word, "…evil?"

"They are determined. And their interpretations of the times leave no room for other viewpoints. They believe in proactive measures."

"Proactive measures against what?"

"The Apocalypse."

"The Apocalypse?" Sam repeated incredulously, searching Frank's face for some hint of humor. A sign it was a joke. But his gaze was as intense and level as always.

"That's insane." Sam said flatly.

"Perhaps." Frank looked past him and out to the driveway where Dean and Jess appeared to be bickering, the details indistinct at the distance. But her arm was still looped firmly through his, and he was making no attempts to pull away.

"Good luck, Sam."

"Wait, wait--" Sam pulled a receipt out is his pocket and snagged a pen from the table just inside the door frame. "Here's my cell number. Call me if you hear from Jordan?"

"I will."

Sam nodded and headed down the steps to join Jess and Dean.

  
** Chapter Twenty-Nine **

  
Peter Watts: St. Augustine said that  
miracles are not contrary to nature,  
only what we know about nature.  
                                    -Millennium

"So what now?"

They were heading back into town, with the vague idea of finding a room for the night. Dean was driving, but Sam had earned shotgun by virtue of a sad look in Jess's direction. Specifically, the downward direction. She had caved to his non-verbal whining, but had her sock-covered feet kicked up on the top of the bench by his ear in retaliation.

"I don't have any plans," Dean shrugged. "Normally I'd start looking for another job, or call Bobby and see what he had."

"Bobby's probably a good idea. Let's go visit." Sam said firmly.

Dean was skeptical. "I don't think we need to drive all the way to South Dakota just to find out if he has any leads. Tennessee has been a pretty good hunting ground so far, and there isn't anything wrong with my cell."

"No," Jess slid one of her feet over to brush her toes against the back of Dean's head. "But we need a place to hole up for a while, and Bobby probably won't charge us for the honor."

"Why do we need to hole up somewhere?"

"Because you need some down time, Dean--" Sam raised his voice to be heard over Dean's outrage, "Don't even start with me. I can almost see your ribs through your t-shirt, you've still got all sorts of half-healed wounds --that's even without the newest collection of bruises-- and you look like you haven't slept since the last time I saw you, and you looked pretty crappy then."

"Tell me how you really feel," Dean groused.

"Yes." Jess said sweetly.

"This sock had better be clean."

She rolled her eyes in the rearview mirror. "Downy fresh, just for you. Seriously though--" She ticked things off on her fingers. "You need to heal, Sam needs to decide what he's doing about the Bar, we all could use some space to just be for a little while, and if there is a chance I might end up being someone's emergency back-up, it might be nice if we had some space for a few practical lessons."

Dean didn't have much argument about that. "Doesn't studying for the Bar take, I dunno, months or something? How long are we planning to stay in one place?"

"It does, but I can study on the road. I just need to decide where I'm taking it and when."

"And you need --what? A few weeks at Bobby's to decide that?"

"I think Jess is trying to give you some polite reasons to agree with us, instead of just telling you you're flat on your ass and you need to stand down before you fall down."

"Plus, I need some time to seduce you properly." Jess mused from the backseat. "I think it will go better if I have more space than the confines of the car."

"It would probably go easiest if you just spread yourself out naked on the hood one afternoon," Sam suggested, controlling the knee-jerk reaction he still had to the idea of Jess naked with anyone else.

"Why don't you try that, Sam. Let me know how it goes?"

"Hey!" Dean interrupted them, "No one is getting naked on my car!" He paused for a moment, then added, "Not unless they're going to wash her afterwards."

"How about we shelve anything involving naked and out-of-doors, at least until the snow melts."

"So, Bobby's then?" Dean finally asked, after a few minutes of companionable silence.

"Yeah."

"Are we going to tell him about …us?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"No." Jess said firmly, pulling her legs back down and sitting up. "It isn't any of his business. And I can't imagine him asking us those kind of questions. I'm not going to lie if he does, unless you guys both want me too, but I'm not going to offer anything either."

"No lies," Sam sighed. "But yeah, let's just not discuss it."

"Is it the sort of thing you _might_ have discussed with him?" Dean asked incredulously. "I don't know why _we_ even have to have this discussion!"

Sam glared at him.

"Because some of us don't have creepy psychic powers--" Jess suggested pleasantly from the backseat.

Dean blanched.

"--and it's important that we're all on the same page with some things."

"Most things," Sam added.

Jess nodded.

"So this is it then?" Dan demanded. "The three of us going to Bobby's and then …what?"

"Whatever we want. Hunting, researching, maybe finding some answers to whatever is going on with these visions of yours."

Jess frowned as something occurred to her. "Hey Dean, how do you pay for gas and stuff anyways? Sam says hunting doesn't pay squat, and it didn't sound like you had any savings."

"Ah ...why don't we just say it's my enterprising nature and leave it at that?"

"What does that mean?" she asked suspiciously.

Sam groaned and turned the classic rock radio station up louder. "How about we just agree to save that for another day?"

"Fine with me, Sammy."

Tuning out the inevitable bitching Dean's use of the nickname entailed, Jess slid over to sit against the door and stretched her legs out across the seat, digging in her bag for the book she had been reading. There would be plenty of time to drag whatever details out of Dean later. It was a long way to South Dakota.

 

**END**

 

**Story Credits and Notes**

This story was officially written for the 2010 SNCross Big Bang Challenge. These notes and comments were written for that posting and have not been updated. 

So, this started when I told my roommate, "ooops, I think I might have signed up for another BigBang." After confessing the details, I gave her the list of SPN/Millennium crossovers I had contemplated and had some plot work for, and she picked this one as the most likely to be a reasonable word count. But then she asked about Jessica, who in the original sketch was only included at all because if Sam continued at Stanford, presumably she would have been a part of his life. A disposable part.

Her: "Is Jessica going with Sam?"  
Me: "Well, I figure after Sam and Dean sort themselves out and get with the sex, Sam will just break it off."  
Her: "Why would he do that?"  
Me: "I only read wincest, so to be fair, I only write wincest."  
Her: "Jess seems like she would be into that."  
Me: *blinks*  
Her: "Jess seems like she might like Hunting. And Dean."

And then it just ...developed. On its own, I swear.

Obviously (unless you have just never seen any Supernatural) this story is an AU. It diverges from canon before the series even starts. Up to that point I don't think any of the back story actually conflicts with canon, though I have only seen the series and am not familiar with any of the other information floating around from other legitimate sources such as literary publications. You can tell that I am all kinds of concerned about it *dryly* The idea of a Millennium/SPN crossover actually started with a different idea, in which Sam and Dean get stranded in the woods with the Old Man from Millennium -- who in this case would be Frank as a successor to the canon one, and have to learn about the nature of evil while putting up with the creepy dogs and various other assorted problems. But Midnight of the Century is one of my favorite Millennium eps, so after exploring the other idea for awhile I drifted towards this one. If I write any more in this 'verse you are probably looking at stories titled things like "Luminary" and "Powers, Principalities, Thrones, and Dominions."  
**Betas!** Normally I would have put this section right up front and center, but since it is included in mini-form in the actual story post -- and there is a link to it up top -- I didn't think it would be terrible to hang it down here with the story notes. I have listed them based on when they jumped on board (apparently, I require a lot of hand-holding), to the best of my recollection. The order is in no way a reflection of how much assistance they provided or anything like that, all of them offered invaluable contributions to the story and I am deeply, deeply grateful. I'm lousy with the grammar, but of any of you guys ever need a plot/story reviewed, someone to bounce ideas off of, or anything else of that nature -- just tell me when!

**asdis athanasia**: The roommate. This is all her fault. Also, I think she might still be bitter that it's not SGA.

**kathickers**: Gave me some great suggestions and encouragement about sections when I was unsure about direction and tone, and also when I just plain was doubting their inclusion. She also educated me about the difference between a "prologue" and "Chapter One," which has no doubt made it better for later readers. And hey - she made the deadline for SPN J2 BB with 9 minutes to spare! That's style *grins*

**lilacsigil**: Her observations went a long way towards shaping the story up from early drafts and encouraging me to go on with it. Without her help it might never have reached the point where anyone else would have been able to see it, much less help with it. Her later assistance was just as valuable and I am very grateful that I found her ...somewhere. I can never remember where I acquire people!

**dime-for-12**: Despite been entrenched in her own BB journey of pain and frustration, she took the time to read MotC and offer some very useful suggestions and encouragement. I think we met up as an agreement to do mutual cheerleading and periodic check-ins to make sure we were, you know, actually writing. This would have been for the SPN J2 BB which hits posting in June, but she was agreeable to being shanghaied into taking a look and this BB story for sncross as well (yes, I'm crazy, I did two this Spring). *hugs*

**elusive_life_77**: Another one of my BB writing peeps! I don't even know how we ran into each other, but I have the sneaking suspicion it started with a sad plaintive sob for help somewhere on LJ *grins* That's how I meet most people. Which one of us was doing the sniffling I have no idea anymore, but it certainly could have been me. Like I said, I require a lot of hand holding *dryly* In the midst of working frantically on her own SPN J2 BB story she took the time to give me some very insightful feedback and several reviews of MotC. She also applied liberal headpats and made me a pretty piece of beaded art to decorate my computer with, it helped keep me happy when otherwise I would probably have been inching the file towards the Recycle icon. The happiness was also vital in preventing me from setting fire to my Admiralty Law textbook during my last round of law school finals. Well... from setting it on fire before I took the test anyways *shifty* She and **aelfsiden** (and Tracy!) also provided a lot of moral support in the way of zombie slayage. Nothing says "what deadline?" like a few campaigns of Left 4 Dead!

**fickleanactoria**: Provided some excellent commentary and suggestions for the story, and delivered a much needed and outstanding grammatical review. I freely admit to thinking of grammar as more of an "art," saints like Anactoria make it actually readable. She also fixed a lot of the spacing ...much of her work was scrambled during the translation between programs, I am hopeful that I fixed most of it *winces* but it is entirely possible that I missed... a lot. Her work was impeccable, any errors or inconsistencies remaining are completely my fault. Which reminds me, she also straightened out the time-line for the story and helped me work out the mash-up in discrepancies between Millennium's time-line and Supernatural's, the fact that it actually makes sense now is purely thanks to her.

And last, but most certainly not least - the amazing **briarwood**, who did the fantastic art for the story that you see embedded at various points in the text. I know she was dealing with a lot of things at the same time, not least of which was her own sn_cross BB, and she still managed to do these outstanding pieces and get them to me early! Thank you so much!

 

**glasslogic - MotC - 4/10/10**


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